


Open Jaws and Closed Hearts

by BabiesAteMyDingo



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Cunnilingus, F/M, Gen, Horror, Oral Sex, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Romance, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Fingering, Wendigo, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabiesAteMyDingo/pseuds/BabiesAteMyDingo
Summary: Arthur don’t talk about it, but the O’Driscolls did more than beat him.Arthur has to come to terms with the darkness inside him since the O'Driscolls took him hostage. Recovering from the trauma is one thing, but Arthur is then thrust into a world he had never thought existed, and has to find his place in it, if there even is a place for him. But his old life still calls him home, and Arthur may have to choose between a new life and the old and deal with the consequences.Playing loosely with timelines, Arthur never got TB but something else instead. Got captured by O'Driscolls earlier in the story and he wasn't just beaten. Rape/non con at start and the trauma and recovery that then needs throughout the rest of the story. Supernatural elements, monsters and darkness oh my! But also Romance. Because Arthur deserves some love dammit. Arthur/ OC
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Rape/noncon here boys and girls, ye be warned. Rating Explicit because of this and for later chapters which will have gore and steamy scenes. I have no control.
> 
> I'm playing loosely with the timeline, the gang are at Clements Point still, but Arthur was captured by the O'Driscolls like in canon, just...earlier. Then it very quickly diverges from canon for Arthur, and won't be following everything to a T.
> 
> I haven't written much for a while but wanted to put this out to encourage me to stick with it. Let me know if you like it!

* * *

Arthur don’t talk about it, but the O’Driscolls did more than beat him.

Eventually the sport of beating a man too injured to fight back got too dull. Arthur’s skin was black and blue, the cobblestone floor and walls slick with splattered blood that looked black in the lantern light. One of the men slipped a grimy finger into Arthur’s mouth, crooked like a hook inside his cheek. Arthur tried to bite and got a slap to the face that made him see stars behind his swollen eyelids.

“Got a mouth on ‘im this one,” one of them had tittered, and they closed ranks, wolf hungry eyes set on a new prize. Nights on the plains were long and lonely, and these weren’t good men. “Can think of a better use for _that_.”

He wish he could say he made it hard for them. That he fought them like the blazes and it were enough to put them off, to drive them away from the damp cellar and leave him well enough alone. But that were a lie, and Arthur were many things, but he weren’t a liar.

A week. A week he rotted away in that damn cell, expecting the gang to descend on Colm O’Driscoll like a pack of avenging angels. If anyone would ride to Arthur’s rescue, it’d be Dutch, hellbent on rescuing a brother. Hosiah wouldn’t let Arthur suffer, not at the hands of Colm. Hell, even Micah owed him one, after Strawberry. They wouldn’t leave him. They wouldn’t.

But the only one who came was Colm O’Driscoll himself, that son of a bitch. Slunk down into the cellar like a dog smelling blood, toothy grin wide enough to split his ugly face in two. He didn’t touch, not Arthur at least, just watched. Slurred filth into the stifling air as much as Arthur tried to block him out.

 _You take that good, boy,_ Colm would grin as hands pulled at Arthur’s hair, bruises dug deep into Arthur’s hips. The air hot and stifling, grunts spilling into the void around Arthur as he bit through his lip to hold back a scream that rattled uselessly in his throat. _You like that, don’t you Morgan? We’ll make a whore outta you yet._

But he weren’t laughing now. No, Colm O’Driscoll had stopped laughing pretty quick at the end. Funny how death did that to a person.

‘Cause Arthur weren’t right.

Hadn’t been, for a while. He couldn’t put it into words right when he tried, even when Mary Beth had offered to listen. The words came out as jumbled and jagged as they felt in his chest, sharp crooked sentences that made Mary Beth wince and him feel a fool. Like something bubbling under his skin, dark and vicious. The O’Driscolls had clawed it loose from his ribcage and now it slithered in his veins, demanding it’s pound of flesh.

When Arthur got back to camp, only getting that far by the grace of his mare, Valkyrie, he’d looked half dead. Dutch had blustered about vengeance, promises of pain returned and the anguish of having lost him. Arthur didn’t feel it much, the words hollow in the space his heart should have been. Something worse squatted there now, corrupt and cold, and it laughed as Dutch rode out to Colm’s with Javier and Micah promising revenge.

They came back pale faced and jittery, refusing to talk about it, and didn’t look Arthur’s way. It panicked the others, made them murmur under their breath where they thought Arthur couldn’t hear.

‘Cause Arthur weren’t right.

There was a camp full of dead O’Driscolls to prove that. Colm O’Driscoll ripped open throat to balls, ribs snapped like toothpicks and flesh picked clean. Crows left pecking the oozing cavities where his eyes should have been.

* * *

Sometimes, it was almost like normal. With the majority of the O’Driscolls gone, the only thing the gang had to worry about was Pinkertons, and they hadn’t seen hide or hair of them for weeks. Dutch was riding high on the prestige that came from getting chummy with the local Grey Sheriff, and for once it was almost an honest living.

Arthur just made himself scarce. Did his share of course, brought in money he earned from selling pelts and meat he hunted, catching mustangs and bringing in the odd bounty. They didn’t ask him to join no heists, and he didn’t ask. Probably better that way. Could be he just didn’t have a taste for it no more- too many folks killed over the years and for what? More running from trouble and some cash that was spent faster than it took to get it in the first place.

Strawberry still festered in him. A town of folk just trying to get by, half their menfolk gunned down all ‘cause Micah couldn’t keep his ugly trap shut. Often Arthur chose his hunting grounds up that way, selling back meat and skins to the local butcher at a much lower price he’d get elsewhere. Trying to do _something_ to keep the town going. Penance, or whatever the Reverend liked to call it in his more lucid moments.

Arthur did the same in Valentine, careful not to cause any trouble and warning any of the others to keep away. The town had seen enough of them, and folks treated Arthur kind enough. Even said things like _Mornin’_ and _How you doin’?_ like he was an honest man.

They didn’t look at him like they _knew._

 _You ‘aint worth nothin’,_ Colm still laughed in his head, phantom hands pressing cruel fingers around his throat. _Less than nothin’, and ‘aint nobody gives a damn what happens to you._

Arthur never stayed long in the towns.

* * *

More and more Arthur found himself slipping away from camp to roam the forests on Valkyrie, spending nights away, camping out in the wilds where things made more sense and he couldn’t hurt no-one. ‘Cause some nights, when the moon was bright and high, it was like he just…blacked out. Would come to in the morning, naked as a jaybird in some bush or another, blood smeared all over his face, teeth aching and jaw sore. He had a disease, a madness in his brain he couldn’t cure with all the prayer in the world. He never seemed to hurt his mare though, and eventually he’d find her, back at a camp he could never remember setting up, tethered and grazing happily.

Sometimes he’d be out there so long someone would be sent to haul him back, usually Charles or Lenny. They may fear him, but they needed him. Dutch needed him. A foreman always needed his best tools to get the job done.

This time they brought him back for a job, the first they’d included him on in weeks. Was a quick in and out stagecoach robbery, but it still left a stale taste in his mouth. Someone said something, or moved too fast, and there it was, another woman left with a lonely bed, her man never to come home. He’d been brought along to look scary, and scary he was.

_All you’re good for._

“Jesus, Arthur, you brood any harder, your face is gonna stick that way.”

Lenny pulled Maggie up beside Arthur, the Mustang snorting as she tossed her head. Arthur straightened in the saddle, gripping the reins. His own mare Valkyrie was an Appaloosa, a strong legged horse that could handle Arthur’s weight. She had a silver dappled coat with darker spots on her rump. She’d belonged to a Lemoyne Raider, and once Arthur introduced him to the business end of his rifle, seemed a shame to sell the mare on or turn her loose. Couldn’t leave somethin’ so pretty to feed the wolves, or be worked to death in a field.

She were loyal, and fierce, and a braver horse Arthur hadn’t come across yet. But she could be stubborn, and she didn’t take kindly to others, pulling her head up high as the Mustang pulled up beside her.

Arthur shifted in the saddle, patting Valkyrie’s neck fondly as she huffed and puffed. “Might be an improvement.”

Lenny chuckled. “Maybe so, but I can’t remember the last time I saw you look anythin’ but…well. Like _that.”_

Arthur scowled, fingers squeezing the worn leather reins in his hands. Valkyrie’s ears flicked back in warning as Maggie came too close, and wisely the Mustang veered away, giving the larger horse space.

“You want somethin’?” It sounded harsh, even to Arthur, but he didn’t have it in him to try and curb his tone. His gums itched, he wanted to bite something.

Lenny held his hands up in a peace gesture. “Easy big man. Just….you haven’t said much lately. Wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Arthur sighed. Lenny meant well, and he were a friend. He didn’t deserve Arthur growling and snapping at him.

It had been four of them, him, Lenny, Bill and Javier. They’d split just outside Rhodes, Bill and Javier going right while Arthur and Lenny went left. Arthur slowed Valkyrie to a gentle walk and Maggie fell alongside. Only a few wagons were on the dusty road, wheels loudly creaking and out of habit Arthur dutifully tipped his hat to each. The trail sloped down, angling into the forest and towards camp.

“’M fine.”

“See, you say that, but I don’t believe it. That job went a bit sideways huh? Shame it came to blows.”

The jobs always went sideways. Every goddamn time, someone ended up dead.

“Yeah. Shame.” A jackrabbit shot into the brush, startling several birds in a burst of noise. Valkyrie tossed her head but didn’t shy. She never did.

Sean whistled as they neared camp. Lenny echoed it, and Arthur nudged his mare forward at a quicker pace, breaking through the tree line to the clearing beyond. It was just past midday and the camp was busy, Pearson bent over the cooking pot and grumbling as he stirred the steaming mess. Arthur concentrated on getting his mare seen to- unstrapping her tack and getting her brushed down before he sent her off to the other horses. She nudged him with her flank, nearly sending him over and trotted off with a nicker.

The stew was gamey but satisfying, and Arthur settled at the rickety wooden table, hunched over and slurping. Uncle was on another rant, Mrs. Grimshaw clucking at him like a disapproving hen at the coop cockerel. Jack was poking something in the dirt, Cain the camp mongrel hovering worriedly. Arthur watched the boy for a while until the spoon hit the bottom of the bowl with a clatter. Weren’t his place o’ course, but it weren’t no life for a child. Was still surprised Dutch encouraged it, but weren’t like Abigail had much choice. Hell at one point Arthur thought about proposing, just to give her and Jack a better life somewhere but then John had surprised them all and come back. For better or worse, he couldn’t say.

Speaking of which.

John had approached, leaning one hip awkwardly against the table as he crossed his arms, looking anywhere but at Arthur directly.

“Alright?”

Arthur grunted, setting the bowl aside and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What you want Marsten?”

Usually John would cuss him out, still just a proud kid trying to measure up. John’s brow furrowed, but he bit back his temper, shrugging stiffly instead.

“Nothin’. Thought I’d sit a spell.”

Arthur eyed him suspiciously. “You ‘aint sittin’.”

John huffed, kicking the bench aside to step in and sit down, spreading his hands. “Now I am.”

“You can sit wherever you damn well please,” Arthur muttered. “I don’t care.”

Silence then. John shuffled, fingers tapping a restless tune against the wood. “I uh…I just…”

Lord he didn’t have the energy to deal with John. He never did honestly, the two of them butting heads more than the mountain rams Arthur sometimes hunted in the mountains. Too alike, too different, he could never figure why John rubbed him so raw.

“’M sorry.” John finally blurted.

Silence between them, only the murmurs of the others as they went about their business. As John should be doing.

Arthur blinked slowly, willing his itching gums to settle. The wounds on John’s face had healed but left long jagged scars of tooth and claws. Arthur had the irrational urge to see if his fingers matched the lines, if his teeth would perfectly fit the juncture between John’s neck and shoulder where he could see a pulse faintly beat.

_The fuck was wrong with him._

“What?”

“We shoulda done more,” John said. “Looked harder. Dutch said was too dangerous, that you’d be alright. We all just…believed it. And you are, but you also ‘aint.”

There was a faint buzzing in Arthur’s ears, his throat tight. The itching in his gums intensified, and he ground his teeth together until he could feel them creak with the pressure. Pain then, a dull throb from his jaw but he barely felt it.

“’M fine.”

John was never one for pity, but there was something in his dark eyes that made Arthur want to scream, anger pulsing hotly in his belly. John shook his head.

“Like hell you are.”

 _You ‘aint a beast,_ Arthur tried to calm himself, temper the fire that bubbled up into his throat, threatening to spew out his mouth like damnation. _You **‘aint**._

“You don’t come to camp much no more,” John barreled on. “We didn’t see you for close on a month, Arthur. If Charles didn’t bring you back, you woulda been out there longer. Jesus Arthur, what the hell happened with Colm?”

 _Concern,_ Arthur realized in John’s expression. God if he didn’t look like the ratty kid Arthur once knew, long before heists and babies. Made Arthur’s heart ache something fierce for lost days, but he weren’t that man no more.

He weren’t sure what he was.

“I killed ‘im,” Arthur growled. “What more do you want? The bastard is dead and we can go back to livin’ this shit thing we call life without worryin’ bout O’Driscolls.”

“Yeah but-“

“No _buts_ about it,” Arthur stood abruptly, hands braced on the table and teeth bared. “The hell you want, Marsten? You wanna braid our hair and talk ‘bout our _feelin’s_? Best look to your woman for that, I ‘aint in no mood for your stupidity.”

John flushed, still so easy to anger. “You don’t gotta be an asshole about it.”

Arthur barked a laugh. The sound drew glances from the others, and Arthur snorted, grabbing his empty bowl. “I’m always an asshole.”

“Didn’t use to be. You’ve changed, Arthur. And it ‘aint a good change.”

He left John there before he gave into temptation and just punched him. Arthur dumped his bowl into the barrel behind Pearson’s wagon, snarling at Molly who happened to be in his path. With a shocked _I never,_ she was gone in a swirl of green velvet, hurrying back to the safety of Dutch’s tent. Wisely no-one else looked his way, scurrying to avoid being in his path as he stomped back towards his tent.

He could feel it, a festering in his chest, something black and pulsing behind his ribs. He rubbed the spot absently through his grimy shirt, digging his fingers into skin hard as if he could pluck it out. On the rickety table beside his cot was his journal, and he stared at it as he rubbed, digging blunt nails into his breast bone.

He hadn’t so much as drawn a line or written a word in it since he’d been captured. What would he even put in it?

_Fucked by O’Driscolls. Didn’t like that one bit._

Colm laughed at him, and the anger spiraled behind Arthur’s eyes, bubbling up in his throat until it poured into his mouth, acidic and vile. _You weren’t worth savin’. Never was, never will be._

_Worthless._

_Useless._

_Abandoned._

“Arthur? Arthur!”

The pounding heat subsided, Arthur blinking as the world came back into focus. Hosiah stood outside his tent, peering inside worriedly but maintaining a distance.

“Son, what are you doing?”

Arthur blinked again, brow furrowing as he looked down at his hands. Pages fluttered around his tent, scraps caught on the gentle breeze. His journal was ruined, the leather cover torn down the middle and pages torn into pieces that fluttered weakly around him.

Arthur stared dumbly at the carnage, the months of work he had destroyed in seconds.

Hosiah stepped closer.

“ _Don’t.”_

The words didn’t even sound like his, voice raw and growling. Hosiah froze, and Arthur recognized the emotion that flickered in his face, one he hadn’t expected to see in the expression of the man he looked up to like a father.

_He’s afraid of me._

Arthur tossed the remains of the journal away from him, fingers aching from the force he’d ripped and torn. He hadn’t unpacked his pack he’d unloaded off Valkyrie earlier, and he grabbed the worn strap, heaving it over his shoulder. “I’m headin’ out.”

Hosiah frowned, but stepped away from him as Arthur ducked out of the tent. “But you only just got back. Surely-“

“I’m goin’.”

Valkyrie came when he whistled, patiently allowing him to saddle her back up again and secure his pack. He could hear low voices beyond the camp fire but no-one moved to stop him, or ask him to stay.

He got the last buckle cinched, and hoisted himself into the saddle, settling back into the worn seat. A whisper of grass against clothing and a few steps away, Sadie stood, arms crossed and watching him silently. She looked good, in her shirt and man's trousers. Healing from the loss of her husband.

Healing. Wasn't sure he knew the meaning of the word.

“Mrs. Adler.”

“Arthur.”

Something in her voice made him pause, heels poised to nudge Valkyrie into motion. Sadie’s shoulders slumped, and she moved closer. She looked tired, her eyes dark and mouth set in a grim line. She were a hell of a woman, and she were kind to him, in her own way. She didn't have to be.

Sadie patted Valkyrie’s neck and the horse nosed her fondly, allowing her to comb her fingers through Valkyrie’s white mane.

“I know that look,” Sadie said quietly, rubbing strands of horsehair between her fingers. “It’s one I wear myself.”

Arthur snorted. “Should hope not, you’re a darn sight prettier than me.”

She didn’t smile. “You know how much those O’Driscoll bastards took from me. They took somethin’ from you too, didn’t they?”

Arthur fought to keep his belly from churning. “Not the first time I’ve been beaten. Doubt it’s the last.”

Sadie’s hand fell away from Valkyrie’s neck. “O’Driscoll’s do more than beat, we both know that.”

Sweat prickled down his back, the reins in his hands creaking. Sadie took a step back, wrapping her arms back around herself.

“You killed them, Arthur. And I know you killed 'em slow. I wish I got to see it, but I know you did it good. But don't let that bastard haunt you, he don't deserve it. You're better than him.”

Something skittered in his chest, running cold claws down the inside of his lungs. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout.”

“Arthur-“

“I’ll see you round, Mrs. Adler.” Arthur tugged the reins and Valkyrie broke into a trot, taking him away from Sadie’s too knowing eyes, her sadness and pity.

“Arthur!”

He spurred his mare on, Valkyrie’s long legs snapping out and carrying him away from camp into the forest. He let her run, carrying him further and further, across plains, fields and rivers. Maybe if they ran far enough they'd just plunge off the edge of the world and none of it would matter anymore.

 _You don't matter,_ Colm reminded him, chuckling darkly in his bones. _Never did. Never will._

Arthur rode until Valkyrie's sides were heaving with exertion, until mare and rider alike were clammy with sweat and the horizon danced like a mirage before tired eyes.

 _You're mine,_ Colm laughed, and it didn't matter how hard Arthur rode, how far he went. He was still in that cell, Colm spitting down at him, hands fisted in Arthur's hair. _You'll never forget it._

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

As luck would have it, there were a few more O’Driscolls that needed culling.

Arthur hadn’t been looking for them, but he had ended up giving Valkyrie her head and the mare had set the pace up into the mountains, to the lush lavender meadows they both had loved. _Before._ He had hunted game up in the hidden valleys, ambled through the fields and forests, bringing back pelts to sell in Valentine.

Simpler times. 

There were a ranch there nestled at the base of the mountains, looking out over the purple plains. Arthur imagined it were the closest thing to heaven living up there, and he cut his path close, thinking maybe there'd be a job or two they'd need doing he could concentrate on to ignore the unease creeping up his spine. Just needed something simple to take his mind off it, to ignore the fact he'd run like a scared jackrabbit from camp.

But instead of homesteaders or farmers he found ragged outlaws. One of the barns had been torn down and converted into a smoky camp outside the main building. Arthur had scoped it out through his rifle, over the ridge, and nearly snapped the attachment in two when he realized. Remnants of the northern O’Driscoll camp had drifted here, aimless and cut off from the main gang since Dutch had flushed them out. Probably fancied themselves a slice of the easy life with no Colm ordering them about. 

He didn't plan it out, didn't sneak in quiet like he shoulda. It were messy, and it were bloody, and it pleased him, for a moment.

After the firefight died down and the plains no longer echoed with the whipcrack of gunfire, Arthur stood in the wreckage. Seventeen more men he’d sent down to hell, and the thought didn’t bother him none. He’d taken a bullet to the arm and a graze to the thigh, but it’d barely been a challenge. They'd grown lazy living the easy life and it showed, had barely scrambled to their weapons in time at the first scream of Arthur's rifle, the shot sinking into the young sentry's temple and splattering the barn wall with viscera.

The rest followed. One had run and Arthur rode him down until the boy's legs gave out, and he wept and blubbered into the heather like it would save him. Couldn't have been more than eighteen, chin barely growing hair, and Arthur caved his face in with the butt of his rifle until he weren't a man no more. Just a red smear twitching in the grass.

Took him a day but Arthur got the corpses all piled up in the dirt outside the ranch, fodder for the crows that were already circling overhead. If Arthur put a few extra rounds into the corpses, weren't no one there to judge him. Was between him and God, and that bastard had proved he didn't have an interest in Arthur's doings.

The stables were still usable, dry and intact, and he got Valkyrie put into a stall, sliding off the saddle and tack to rest it against the wall. There was dry hay, and the mare set to it enthusiastically as Arthur brushed her coat down with even firm strokes.

“Easy girl,” he rumbled, stroking her neck as she noisily chomped. “We’ll take a few days here, yeah? Rest a bit?”

She nickered, and he nodded, scooping up his pack and rifles. “I’ll check the house, hopefully the O’Driscoll’s didn’t stink it up too much.”

He’d have to clear out the haphazard campsite the O’Driscolls had put together, but it would be a nice base for a day or two. Nicer than camping in a tent at least, and judging by the bruised clouds on the horizon, a storm would blow in over the next day and a roof then would be a blessing.

There were a few treasures he found in the bedrolls and tents, mainly canned food and some shiny rings here and there, and Arthur gathered it all, stashing the treasures inside his own pack with the view of selling it all once he made it back down into the valley. The main farmhouse was large, but Arthur grimaced as he pushed inside, the wooden door creaking.

Inside, the O’Driscolls had made a mess. Embers were still glowing in the fireplace, but the fancy couch was mud splattered and ripped- the floor strewn with empty bottles, cans and ripped paper. Arthur dropped his pack by the stairs, surveying the damage. No body of the owner, or a family, and a part of him hoped they were still alive, perhaps visiting family somewhere far away.

A cursory glance in the kitchen revealed it had escaped mostly untouched, though there were grimy plates piled high in the sink and more discarded cans. The oven looked in working order, and he found an old burnished kettle in one of the cupboards. Arthur loaded the oven with some blocks of wood he found down the side of the sink, and got a small fire going after a few false starts. Clicking the oven door shut, he managed to get the water pump over the sink working, sloshing the kettle full with cold water. Setting it to boil on the stove, Arthur grimaced, arm twinging. 

He’d bled through his shirt, and Arthur sighed, unbuttoning it down his chest and belly, sliding it slowly off his shoulders and down his arms. More luck, the bullet had gone through rather than staying lodged in his arm, and he salvaged what he could from the shirt, tearing the unbloodied portion into strips to use as bandage. The rest was tossed into a corner with the rest of the mess.

When the water was hot enough he moved the kettle off the stove and poured the steaming water into a bowl, carefully dipping one of the strips of makeshift bandage into it and pressing it to the wound. It stung, and Arthur hissed into the silence, working quickly. He wiped all around the wound, dipping into the wound itself that sent pain buzzing down his nerves. He’d set aside a half empty bottle of whiskey, and quickly he downed a shot, letting the burn travel down his throat, before steeling himself and pouring the rest on his arm.

It hurt like a bitch, and Arthur spat and cursed through it, pounding the bottle onto the table. Slowly the burning dissolved in a dull ache, and Arthur grunted, flexing his fingers. His arms were still littered with healing scars from his time with Colm, cigarette burns, knife slices, a brand there. A healing pink pattern on his forearm drew his attention and he frowned at them. A memory of snarling and snapping- that was right. Wolves, over by the lumber yard. The foreman there had paid him to do away with a pack that had been running wild, killing some of his workers. They’d been huge beasts, larger wolves than Arthur had ever seen before at least. But their skin had been stretched taught over jutting bones, fever bright eyes hungry and rolling. They’d been starving, and though putting them down was no doubt a mercy in the end, it still made him…sad. That it had come to that. They had deserved better.

The graze on his thigh was superficial, only took a few swipes with the water to get clean but he bandaged it up anyways. He’d heard of men dipping their bullets in foul things to bring on a fever in whoever it lodged in, and he wouldn’t put it past the O’Driscolls to try something unnatural.

Wounds clean, Arthur set to finding some clean clothes, and though the upstairs was trashed as well, there was a dresser that had been mostly left alone. He found a clean shirt and some work jeans, threadbare in the knees but useable. It would do, and Arthur pulled the clothing into place, scars and wounds safely hidden from view again.

Dusk was settling in, the forest surrounding the ranch growing dark. Arthur stoked the fire in the fireplace, before settling on the sofa in front of it in a boneless sprawl. He snagged an opened bottle of gin from the floor, sniffing it cautiously. Smelled like shit, but most alochol did. With a shrug, he took a swig, spluttering at the rough burn that made his eyes water.

"Trust O'Driscolls to drink pig shit," he muttered out-loud, but took another pull. He stared into the fireplace, listening to the crackling of the flames and the odd hoot of an owl outside. 

It was…peaceful. In the morning he’d set to making the place neat again, wash away the filth of the O’Driscolls until there weren’t nothing left. He could spend a few days here, just take stock.

_Then what?_

Arthur tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling.

_They took somethin’ from you too, didn’t they?_

The gin bottle creaked in his grip. Weren’t no more O’Driscolls left. He’d seen to that. Then why had the unsettled feeling in his belly not subsided? The itching he could feel in his jaw, the urge to fight and bite and _kill?_

“You got somethin’ loose in your head,” Arthur grunted to the ceiling. “Goddamnit old man, best get your head sorted before you do somethin’ stupid.”

His whole life was stupid. A sorry tale of running, and shooting, and killing. He didn’t know how to do anything else.

Weren’t good for anything else.

_Worth nothing. Nothing but a body to be used, Morgan. Fighting, fucking. All you’re good for._

“Fuck off Colm,” Arthur muttered, taking another deep drag of the gin. Foul stuff, but the burn was welcome, pulling him away from darker thoughts. “Stupid asshole. You’re dead and I ‘aint. You’d think that’d be somethin’ to smile about it.”

But Arthur didn’t smile. He took another gulp of gin. What if…he weren’t Arthur no more? Just skin wrapped around something worse, something rotting in his bones. He could feel it, if he thought about it hard enough.

With a dark mutter, Arthur threw the empty bottle aside, listening as it crashed into the shadows.

Colm just laughed.

* * *

The bodies were gone.

Arthur stood where he had dumped the bodies of seventeen men, and just _stared._

Blood had congealed and crusted into the dirt, leaving black moist patches that the birds still pecked at, but the bodies were _gone._

Seventeen men.

There were no tracks, no scat or fur left. If a bear had come through, it would have left a messy pulp of bone and flesh behind. Wolves might have dragged the bodies a bit further away, but there would have been drag marks, scraps left.

Hell, it wasn’t as if they all just stood up and walked away.

Arthur huffed, scanning the forest line with unease. The morning sun was already warming the chilly mountain air, and the birds were in full symphony. He could see deer out on the plain, grazing and drinking from the crisp river that cut through the lavender. Nothing out of place, life as normal.

Except that seventeen dead O’Driscolls had decided to vanish in the night.

Arthur had fallen asleep in front of the fire, only startling awake in the grey light of dawn. The fire had long gone cold, and Arthur’s back protested at the position he had contorted himself in. His dreams had been dark as always, but for once he’d had a full night’s sleep, and not woken up disorientated in a bush somewhere.

So why were the bodies gone?

He sighed, tugging his hat further down his face. Well they were gone. Good riddance, though their corpses would probably give whatever animal devoured them a belly ache.

Arthur turned away, rolling his shirt sleeves up past his forearms. He’d best get on with clearing up the mess while he still had daylight. Why he was bothering and not already moving on…he didn't examine it too closely. The tents were easy enough to tear down, and he tossed the bottles and cans onto the downed canvas and rolled them up. A disused shed became the dumping ground, and by the time the midday sun was beating down on him, Arthur was out of breath and the shed was full.

He took lunch on the makeshift watch tower, chewing through some of the deer jerky he’d retrieved from his pack and watching the peaceful plains beyond the ranch. A wild herd of horses roamed amongst the deer, and Arthur watched them for the better part of an hour, enjoying their antics and graceful movements.

He preferred it up here, where the air was fresh with the scent of pine. The south was fine in its own way, the rolling grasslands were pleasant enough, but this…this was wilderness. Could’ve seen himself settling in a place like this, if he hadn’t lived the life he had.

By the time evening started to cloak the trees in shadows, Arthur had gotten the yard fully cleared. Almost looked like a regular working ranch again, if you didn’t look too closely. No doubt the animals that the pens had once held had been slaughtered and eaten by the gang, but Arthur found himself musing on what he would put there if the place was his. Harmless dreaming, but it made his chest hurt so he busied himself with dinner.

Valkyrie had been securely put to bed in the stalls, Arthur shoveling a new pile of hay in with her to keep her warm and fed during the night. He’d kept one of the ratty blankets from the old O’Driscoll camp and settled it over her flank as the temperature dropped, but she seemed as offended by the O’Driscoll stink as he was, and tugged it off to trample in a corner.

He’d gotten the stove in the kitchen going again, and found an old dented cast iron pan that had seen better days. For the first time in weeks, months maybe, Arthur cooked himself a proper meal, searing a chunk of venison he’d found in the cold storage that seemed good still. Some wild carrots and greens went in with it, along with herbs he’d plucked out in the meadow. Wouldn’t win no awards in Saint Denis, but it smelled good enough it made his belly pinch, and Arthur even served it up on a proper plate with a knife and fork.

He’d cleared the table of old cigarette packs and bottles, and as he sat down with his meal it felt…nice. Refined. The meat was tender, and he savored each bite, chewing slowly. Soft patters against the windows and roof told him the storm he had seen the previous day had finally started to move in, and Arthur relaxed further into the chair as the rain fell harder. Here he was, warm and dry for once. Well fed. Even Valkyrie didn’t have to spend the night drenched, she was warm and dry in the roomy stables. What more could a man want?

“Not so chatty now, are ya?” Arthur muttered to the ghost of Colm. The voice was blissfully quiet.

Done, he cleared up his plate and cutlery and clattered them into the sink. He’d do the dishes tomorrow, and maybe wash some clothes in the cold creek. There was soap under the sink and if he could find some needle and thread he could even try his hand at repairing his old jeans.

An ominous rumble shuddered overhead, a clap of lightening sounding soon after. A proper storm then. Arthur squinted out the window at the blurry darkness beyond. The rain was coming down hard now, wind picking up and he couldn’t see anything beyond the glass pane.

Another rumble, and soon after a flash of lightening lit up the yard, casting odd shadows and shapes against the barn. His eyes immediately shot to the spot the bodies had been, half expecting to see a rotten specter glaring back.

But the yard was just that, a yard. Quiet. Shaking his head at himself, Arthur pulled away from the window. Might as well call it a night, and he had designs on sleeping in an actual bed this time, not contorted on the couch. He lit the lamp perched on the fireplace mantle, lifting it high to illuminate the way.

His footsteps sounded loud on the wooden stairs as he tromped upstairs, thunder still rolling overhead. He had a choice of beds, and ended up choosing the least stained mattress. Setting the lamp on the bedside table, Arthur knelt to drag an old horse blanket out of his pack. He draped it over the mattress first, not wanting to touch anywhere an O’Driscoll had been. Sitting on the mattress it held his weight alright, not sagging like the others he had pulled into the corner. Slowly Arthur toed off his boots, unclipping his gun belt and knife and setting them carefully beside the bed within easy reach. His rifles were already there, and out of habit he checked them both, ensuring they were loaded.

He didn’t strip out of his clothes, too much of an old habit to break, no matter how safe he felt. Grabbing the rough woolen blanket he’d had for Lord knows how long, he pulled it over his body, settling back on the lackluster pillow.

He didn’t blow out the lamp, choosing instead to leave it flickering as the rain came down harder, enveloping him in the sound. He breathed deep, resting his hands on his belly as he closed his eyes, listening. Water trickling down the sides of the house, dripping from the rafters. The heavy weight of thunder shaking his chest, the sharp sting of lightening after leaving the taste of metal in his mouth.

He was alive. No cellar, no O’Driscolls. No pitying looks in camp. Nothing but him, and nothing.

Arthur breathed out slowly, limbs mellow and heavy. Whatever this was, whatever he felt in his bones, he would survive it. Scars always healed, though sometimes they healed ugly. He just had to concentrate on the healing, and it’d be alright. He could do that. He could-

A scream shattered the peace Arthur had lulled himself into. Arthur shot up, tension flooding his body and sending his heart pounding.

_The hell was that?_

He strained to listen beyond the rain. He knew foxes could scream when their blood ran hot in the spring, and Charles said the mountain cats could sound like ladies in distress but…that hadn’t-

The scream sounded again, jagged and piercing through the steady roar of the rain. Like a howl and a roar in one sound, it scratched the back of his skull, rattling his nerves and raising the hair on the back of his neck. Arthur swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his heart thudding against his ribs hard enough to make him feel sick.

_That ‘aint no goddamn mountain cat._

Arthur scrabbled for his boots, jamming his feet into them with more force than he meant. His fingers trembled as he got his gun belt, the buckles jingling as he struggled to get it on. He grabbed his Springfield- it had enough punch to take down a bear- and tucked it protectively into his shoulder as he went to the window.

The rain and dark didn’t give him much to work with, but he waited, counting his breaths until the thunder rolled again. The crack of lightening was welcome, illuminating the barn and plains beyond, and Arthur strained in the few seconds he had, eyes sweeping the grounds of the ranch and-

Something moved by the treeline. He didn’t get a good enough look, only spotted the movement of it from the corner of his eye as it ducked back into the tree line, but it looked pale, long.

It looked like it was headed to the barn. _Valkyrie._

Arthur swore, shoving away from the window. He ignored the dying lamp, knowing the house well enough to forgo it, boots clattering loudly down the stairs as he slung the rifle over his shoulder.

 _A bear?_ His mind tried to reason as he hurried to the door, shoving it open with too much force to fall out into the rain. _Lots of bears round here._

And horse was always a good option on the menu. The rain dragged him down immediately, heavy sheets of it soaking him in seconds. For a moment Arthur floundered in the dark, unsure of what direction he should go, but another flash of lightening showed him the way, and Arthur squelched through the mud to the barn, heart in his throat. Thank God he’d cleared the yard, the going would be harder if he hadn’t.

And like hell he was gonna let some bear take his horse.

Weren’t much point trying to be quiet, the animal knew the horse was there already so Arthur just slammed his way into the barn, throwing open the large double doors. They bounced against the wall, swinging shut behind him and throwing the barn into darkness.

“C’mon my lovely,” he tried to steady his voice, to assure her all was well. “Think I prefer you in the house.”

There’d been a length of rope he’d left hooked on her stall, and he grabbed it, feeling his way to the gate and undoing the latch. Arms held out in the darkness, he reached for his mare, clucking his tongue.

“C’mon Val,” he crooned. “We got beasties out so I’d-“

He found her, his hand smoothing over her shoulder, and Arthur drew up short as he realized how _still_ she was. She was breathing, he could feel that under his hands, but her muscles felt like stone, the horse so still she could be mistaken for a statue. Another lightening flash, and her silver form flashed in front of him. Her eyes were as wide open as they’d go, her nostrils flaring as she dragged in ragged gusts of air.

She was terrified.

The mare had faced wolves and bears in her time, and though she certainly didn’t like them, she’d never shied, never bucked him off. She’d always trusted him to steer her away from the trouble, or deal with it. He’d never seen her look like that, and it only ramped up his own fear.

_The hell is out there?_

“Hey now, hey girl,” he tried to sooth her, ignoring his own trembling hands as he looped the rope around her head. “C’mon. C’mon now.”

He pulled gently, but she didn’t budge. He tugged harder but she weren’t going nowhere. Arthur patted her neck pleadingly. Her coat was slick with clammy sweat.

“C’mon Val,” he whispered. “Please.”

But still the Appaloosa wouldn’t move. Her sides only heaved harder, and he could practically smell her fear, potent and sour in his nose.

The screech sounded again, much closer. Must be at the fence now, slithering over the rough wood to claw in the mud and fixing the barn in it’s dead eyes. A reanimated dead O’Driscoll seeking revenge-

“Jesus Christ, get a grip,” Arthur muttered to himself, pulling on the rope harder. It chafed his hands and he got Valkyrie to step once, but that was as much as she’d go, throwing her weight back against him in refusal.

Cursing, Arthur let the rope go. He fumbled in the dark, getting his rifle off his shoulder, the weight of it in his hands familiar. Comforting.

“Alright. It wants some horse it’s gotta make it past me,” Arthur muttered, crossing the stall to grapple at the gate door. He heaved himself over it, boots rustling in the dry straw. Still his pulse slammed in his throat, unease making his finger twitch on the trigger. If it was a bear, he just needed to show some force and it would run for it. No horse was worth a bullet, hunger or no.

Lightening illuminated the barn again, and Arthur blinked, eyes sliding to the window that looked towards the house.

A face stared back.

He only saw a glimpse, dark eyes and a gaping mouth before darkness enveloped them again. This time Valkyrie erupted into motion, rearing up in her stall and _screaming,_ her voice so loud and damning Arthur didn’t know if he should scream back. His bowels felt like liquid, but shakily Arthur hefted his rifle to his shoulder, barrel trained on the window.

“What the hell, what the _hell,”_ he was trembling, and he backed up, legs hitting Valkyrie’s stall. She was bucking and thrashing as if the devil himself was riding her, and Arthur wildly cast around, straining his eyes to spot any movement.

A mountain cat. Had to be, nothing more. Nothing more.

Not a corpse, face pressed tight to the glass, groaning mouth slavering and rotten fingers reaching for him.

Another flash of lightening and he looked around wildly, half expecting to find himself surrounded. Nothing. Nothing at the windows, and just Valkyrie in her stall moaning and shaking.

“C’mon then!” Arthur roared, anger starting to bubble in his chest. “C’mon you bastard!”

Just him and his mare heaving shuddering breaths in the dark. Arthur swung the gate open with one hand, keeping his rifle trained towards the doors. Valkyrie wasn’t rearing, and as he grabbed the rope still looped around her neck, she jostled up behind him, bellowing hot gusts of air against his neck.

“Easy, girl,” he said. “We’ll get through this.”

Whatever the hell this was. Had nerves got the better of him? Maybe he was setting her off, his own imaginings panicking her as if something was there. He got her out of the stall, hand fisted in the rope so tightly his fingers hurt.

_Seventeen men. Seventeen men could surround the barn easily. Seventeen dead ones…more so._

“Shut up,” Arthur hissed at himself. “Just shut the hell up!”

Valkyrie was whinnying, legs prancing every which way as she cast around for a danger she could sense but not see.

Thunder. Count the breathes in between to follow the storm. One. Two. Three.

_Four._

The world erupted back in a flash of white light and Arthur went speechless.

Squatting above them in the rafters of the barn, was something awful, the open window behind it silhouetting it's hunched form. Human like limbs, but too long, too pale. Crooked claws hooked into the wood as it leant forward, mouth gaping towards them.

But it’s eyes. Lord it’s _eyes._ White as the moon, and glowing with the gleam of a predator.

Arthur was in motion before his brain registered it, the rifle booming a shot that made the creature hiss, scuttling backwards as the barn went black again. The noise spooked Valkyrie into following him, man and horse barreling through the barn doors into the lashing rain. Arthur kept his grip on the rope and horse, not caring for accuracy as he threw the gun upside down on his shoulder and fired off another round behind him.

He heard it land, the enraged hiss as it clawed out of the barn after them. Valkyrie could outrun it, Arthur couldn’t. Gritting his teeth, Arthur forced himself to let go of the rope, letting his mare break into a gallop to save herself. The rain stung his eyes, and Arthur hollered as something sharp pinched the back of his calf, sending him clattering down into the mud.

 _It’s got me,_ he thought dumbly as he was jerked backwards, the pain in his calf intensifying. His rifle went flying somewhere into the darkness, and claws stabbed into his shoulder, something tearing free below his knee.

He rolled, trying to protect his belly as it raked claws down his arms, trying to get a grip on it, to stop the snapping teeth that sank into the meaty flesh of his palm and worried like a dog with a bone.

 _You’re gonna die, Morgan,_ Colm sneered in his minds eye. _In the mud, like the mongrel you are._

“Damn you!” Arthur screamed, grappling with the thing in the dark. More lightening and he could see for a moment, blinking the rainwater furiously out of his eyes.

It had a face that must have been human once, but wasn’t now. Now it was a stretched mask of rot and decay, sharp teeth stained black in the light. It reared back, diving for his throat as the world went black.

He blocked another bite with his arm, and he felt teeth grind against bone as it savaged at him. The old anger was rising, replacing the stink of fear.

_You’re not going to die in the dirt._

Arthur growled, one arm in the creature’s jaws, his other hand pressed against it’s forehead, forcing it back.

_You’re **not.**_

Bone cracked under it’s teeth, in his arm, and Arthur howled, the sound clawing out of his throat and rising above the pounding rain.

Pain, dull and sharp rippled under his skin, bones creaking and Arthur lost himself in it, the pulsing behind his eyes, the itching in his gums that promised retribution. He could feel himself falling, further and further away, the rain and the thunder dying away until there was nothing but silence.

Silence.

Finally.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Elena Vasquez frowned down at the creased map in her hands, the lines and squares blurring the harder she stared until it just became a jumbled mess of topography she had no hope of deciphering.

With a sigh, she folded it back up, sliding it into the small pack strapped to her worn and fraying saddle. Ghost, her blue roan Criollo gelding, nibbled at the grass poking between slabs of moist moss, uncaring of his mistress's woes as she fussed in the saddle.

“Every damn tree looks the same,” she groused, leaning forward over the pommel to glare suspiciously at the trees surrounding them. “I’m sure we’ve been this way before.”

Ghost grunted, uncaring as long as his belly was filled.

With a dark mutter, Elena tugged the reins, pulling him away and clicking her tongue to encourage him forward. “Come on. One more try.”

He obeyed with a huff, and Elena ducked out of the way of several low branches as they moved deeper into the shadows of the forest. She’d been born in the desert, give her a wide scrubland plain and she could find her way anywhere using the sun and the heavens at night. The colder mountains of the North were a foreign land to her, the very air chilling in her lungs as she sucked in startled breaths. Everything was old here, the trees with their thick trunks and knowing eyes, the elk with their huge antlers spanning years. Memories ran deep here, and she found herself uneasy, felt so small and insignificant in comparison.

But there was beauty too. The peaks blanketed in crisp white, the scent of pine that made her chest feel clean with every lungful. It wasn't home, but it was wild, and that brought comfort.

Elena closed her eyes, trusting Ghost to find his way through the trees, his gait familiar and comforting. She breathed deeply, concentrating to try and filter out the million of scents of the forest. A family of rabbits nested in the hollow of a fallen log, their body warm fur a siren call to her senses, tiny ones nuzzling into their mother’s milk swollen belly. Further away, a fox ran from the sound of approaching horse, heart beating a panicked staccato in it’s narrow chest. The scent of new life was stale on its skinny body, pups taken too early by the cruelty of men.

Elena dug down, casting her senses further.

There. Blood, sick and cloying curling in her nose like molasses. Decay, like a hot spice that made her gag, and…

Hunger.

She nudged her heels into Ghost’s side and he surged into a canter, the trees whipping past them and animals squeaking and breaking cover at the noise.

“Got you,” Elena muttered, reaching out to touch the butt of her rifle safely strapped to the saddle. The pistol strapped to her left hip was a favorite, but the rifle was what she needed on this hunt. “I’m coming you son-of-a-bitch.”

Ghost snorted, stretching his neck to get more speed, and she gave him his head, trusting the gelding to know how far to push himself, to avoid the rabbit holes and weak earth. She’d never had a more sure-footed mount before, knew she could trust Ghost to take her into Hell and back and the horse would do it, wouldn’t falter.

As long as she kept him well fed.

The trees were thinning, yielding to younger plants that still had years of growing ahead of them. Elena could see a field beyond, flat land at last, and she whooped, pushing up in the stirrups to see better. She held onto her hat, jamming it harder onto her head as Ghost broke past the trees, tossing his head as actual _sun_ hit their skin. She laughed, releasing her hat and holding her arms out in front of her to better bask in the light. She’d forgone her sheepskin coat that morning, leaving it in her pack and riding instead only in a cotton work shirt that she’d had to tuck into the waistband of her black jeans to prevent it billowing around her like a tent. She rolled up her sleeves, exposing tanned forearms and the sun settled in her skin happily, warming her bones.

Felt like she’d been in the deep forest for weeks, being led on a merry game of cat and mouse.

The plains were speckled with purple heather and lavender, and she slowed Ghost to a trot, wanting to take it all in. A small herd of white tail deer pranced away, tails flashing in warning, the sight frightening some wild horses that promptly broke into a gallop, whinnying.

It was a picture perfect scene, but already Elena was looking beyond it, practiced gaze scanning the tree line, listening. There was a ranch nestled further down the plain, and Elena huffed a breath, separating out the scents.

There it was, stronger now and relatively fresh.

“Easy, boy,” she murmured, reining Ghost in. “No sense rushing into trouble.”

She tugged the rifle free from it’s bindings, resting it across her thighs as they approached, sloshing through a shallow creek. She could see movement just inside the ranch entrance, and carefully she hoisted the rifle up to her shoulder, peering through the scope to see better.

Horse. A mare by the looks of it, her silver coat standing out harshly against the browns of churned mud and worn wood. It was looking at them, ears pricked forward, a trail of rope dangling from it’s neck that trailed in the dirt as it shifted nervously. Elena frowned, lowering her rifle.

“Not exactly what I was expecting,” she muttered. If her quarry had been through this way, by all rights anything at that ranch would be dead. Tragic, but a fact.

The horse was skittish, ears pinned as she came closer, and she pulled Ghost to a stop, dismounting and patting his neck, running calming fingers through his mane. “Easy.”

Still holding her rifle, Elena cautiously approached the ranch entrance, watching the barn, the house, anywhere for movement. Her spurs clinked, and she moved as quietly as she could. When nothing happened, no gurgling screech or spider like movement scuttling in the shadows of the barn, she relaxed. Her prey had been here, but it was gone now.

“Hey there pretty lady,” she called breezily, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. “What you doing out here?” The mare snorted and stomped the earth in warning. “Easy. Easy, now.”

The mare let her approach, nostrils flaring, and Elena frowned as she peered at the rough halter around her neck. The ends of the rope were frayed and muddy, but she could see the flaking bits of red, a crusted blotch of crimson high up on the mare’s shoulder.

_Blood._

“You alone, girl? Poor thing.” She reached for the rope, but the mare pranced away with a snort, tossing her head impatiently. Elena tipped her hat back to watch her, perplexed. The mare repeated her side steps, furiously tossing her head. Elena watched her repeat the same steps several more times, uneasiness sinking in her belly.

“You wanna show me something?” Elena said slowly. “Alright girl. Easy. Show me.”

She followed the mare’s nervous steps across the yard, noting how the drying mud outside the barn was disturbed, chunks of earth ripped and scattered around. The scent was stronger there.

The mare led her to the fence line, nickering, and it was then Elena could see a lump rolled in the grasses, mud crusted and odd looking. Now she was looking at it she could make out a shoulder, a torso and leg. The corpse was on it’s side, tucked in like a babe sleeping, but it was unmistakably a man. No doubt the poor bastard that had owned the horse.

Elena hovered for a moment, weighing her options. She didn’t exactly have time to go about burying a body when she was so close to catching her quarry. It had been at the ranch in the night, that much was obvious, and if she had any hope of catching up to it, she’d need to be on the move soon. She couldn’t waste daylight bothering with dead men.

The mare lowered her head to nudge the body, nickering mournfully when her master didn’t move.

Elena’s usually stony heart thawed. She had a soft spot for abandoned strays.

“Alright. Easy,” she murmured. She’d give the poor bastard a quick burial and take the mare with her. A second horse to carry the body would bring in a bigger reward anyways. 

Elena sank to one knee in the dirt, casting an eye over the body. It was so crusted with mud and blood it took her a moment to really see it as a man, and grimacing, she located an arm, wanting to get it over with quickly.

The body groaned.

She _didn’t_ yelp. Didn’t flail backwards and land on her ass hard enough she jarred her tailbone.

The poor bastard was _alive._

Scrambling back to him on all fours, Elena searched out his face, sliding her fingers under his jaw and pressing hard against his neck.

A pulse. It tapped against her fingers, very much there.

She could hear a field mouse across the meadow but she hadn’t been able to hear _him_ , hear the heart that still beat in his chest. That could only mean-

“Hey,” she said softly to the stranger, tapping his cheek lightly. “Mister?”

He groaned again, trying to curl back in on himself like a pill-bug. She could smell the blood on him now, his own, clotting and healing. He’d taken a nasty wound to the leg, another to his hand and arm, but she could see it knitting together already, the tears and breaks in skin sealing. It only solidified her suspicions.

How unusual.

He was also as bare as a newborn, not a stitch on him. Elena blushed, averting her eyes. Modesty wasn’t something she was too concerned over, but still, a naked stranger was…well, a naked stranger. Not something she had expected to find.

She whistled over her shoulder. Ghost ambled through the gate and towards them, in no hurry. Elena stood, wiping her hands down on her thighs to get most of the mud off before reaching into the larger pack strapped to the back of the saddle. She had a few spare blankets, it would be enough to get around him and hopefully get him inside. She picked a rough wool spun blanket she’d bartered for from a town at the bottom of the mountain, shaking it out and approaching the man again.

“Alright Mister,” she addressed the unconscious man at her feet. “You’re gonna have to help me here.”

He did no such thing, head lolling listlessly as she got the blanket wrapped around his hips. She tied it off with a length of twine she kept for her hair, and managed to get him sitting, propped up against the fence.

“Can you hear me?” Elena tried again, touching his cheek. He had a beard growing in, the hair tickling her palm, and she tried to clear away more of the mud from his features so she could see him better. His nose was slightly crooked, clearly been broken more times than he had bothered to set it. There was a roughness to his face that spoke of a life hard lived, but he was pleasing enough to look at. Huh. Handsome naked strangers. Would wonders ever cease. “Hey. I need you to wake up.”

His mare came close again, leaning down to nose him, velvet soft-lips whispering over his shoulder affectionately. Elena firmly believed you could get the sense of a man on not only how he treated his horse, but how the horse treated him. There was clearly a deep bond ‘tween the two, and the mare’s ministrations seemed to stir him as the man groaned again, eyelids fluttering.

“That’s it,” Elena encouraged. Even Ghost was bending over her now to stare at him, curious as to what she had found. “Welcome back.”

Another grunt, then slowly his eyes opened, dazed and far away. Pale blue like a winter sky, they stared at her unseeing. She snapped her fingers in front of his face, trying to get him to focus. Gradually colour started to creep back into his cheeks, eyes narrowing in on her face. They stared at each other, the mare moving to his muddied hair, trying to clean him and only managing to pull his short hair up into odd spit slick clumps.

“This heaven?” he finally rasped, voice raw and hoarse. 

Elena stifled a laugh. It wouldn’t do to laugh at him, he'd clearly been through enough. “’Fraid not. You’re still living.”

She got to her feet, spurs clinking and glanced towards the house. “I think you have a story to tell, but I’d rather get you to the house first. Need to get you cleaned up.”

The man blinked again, slowly reaching up to touch his mare, trembling fingers rubbing her soft nose.

“That…thing,” he said haltingly. “It…it’s gone?”

So he didn’t know what it was. Must have been a shock. “No small thing to fight a creature like that and live to tell the tale. You’re either very lucky, or very brave. Or stupid. Kind of all the same when you look at it.“

He ran cracked knuckles down the mare’s cheeks and she pressed in closer to him. “Don’t feel lucky. Feel like shit.”

He held his arm up, frowning. She could see the bite marks on his hand, the slashes running from wrist to elbow. The bleeding had stopped, in a few hours they’d be nothing but pink marks. He stared at them with an odd expression.

“It broke my arm,” he said quietly. “I felt it tear me open and…and I’m…I’m _alive._ How…I don’t…”

Shock was setting in. Elena bent, hooking her arm under his armpit. “C’mon. We need to get you clean and warm. Can you stand?”

Together they got him to his feet, though he wobbled like a newborn fawn, the blanket around his hips threatening to fall. Elena grabbed the fabric, cinching it closer around him, ignoring the embarrassed flush that spread across her cheeks as her knuckles brushed the warm skin above his hip bone. He was in good shape, muscled and strong. Probably what had saved him, in the end. She got his arm over her shoulders, letting him lean on her as they slowly picked their way across the yard to the house.

It took some maneuvering to get them both through the doorway, but they managed after a few bumped elbows and curses. Carefully she helped him down on a sagging couch in front of the fireplace.

“This place yours?” she asked, glancing at the scratched floorboards, the broken furniture and pile of cans and bottles in the corner of the room.

He shook his head, wincing as he shifted into a more comfortable position. “Naw. Cleared it out few days ago. Outlaws.”

She nodded. Another story she wanted to hear. “Fair enough. This place got a kitchen? We’ll need hot water.”

He gestured tiredly to the door at the back. “Through there. Kettle ‘n all.”

Alright then. She could play nursemaid. The floorboards creaked under her boots as she crossed the room. There were older smells here, other people, stale and sour. It made her nose burn and she grimaced, trying not to breathe too deeply.

He coughed, making her pause at the pantry door.

“I uh…thanks. For…savin’ me. “

Elena shook her head. “It’s your mare you should thank. I was set on riding by and she caught my eye.”

“She’s….a good horse.”

Elena waited for him to continue, glancing over her shoulder when nothing else was forthcoming. He just sat there, looking at her with a lost expression, a muddy man with pale blue eyes and a borrowed blanket around his waist.

“Elena Vasquez,” she finally said, the silence stretching too thin. “Nice to meet you.”

That snapped him out of it, and he squared his shoulders, dipping his chin to her politely. “Arthur Morgan. It’s…real damn good to meet you.”

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys. Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, I'm so touched people are reading! So have another chapter haha.

* * *

Every movement felt heavy, his joints creaking and muscles strained. Arthur felt like he’d been hit by a wagon- or run over by a couple.

Several pots of hot water later and he’d managed to get the worst of the mud scraped off him, rubbing hard until his skin was pink and raw. The woman, Elena, had rustled up a worn but clean shirt for him, and he’d had to put on his old bloodstained jeans, but at least he weren’t naked no-more.

A fact he probably shoulda been more embarrassed about, considering there was a woman present, but she didn’t seem bothered none. Didn’t care about the fact that somehow, his response to getting attacked by something monstrous, was getting his cock out and rolling around in the mud until it went away.

_Jesus Christ._

She hadn’t so much as twitched when he’d described it, stumbling over his words ‘cause he knew how crazy it sounded. A corpse. A monster. Something that shouldn’t exist. Probably didn’t.

_No monsters here Morgan but the one you see in the mirror._

He honestly thought himself dead and gone when he’d come to, unsticking his crusty eyelids and seen her. It were her eyes, that got him. Deep burnished gold, like warm honey, and he got stuck in them, feeling a fool. High cheekbones, full lips. Smattering of freckles from facing too much sun. Weren’t often he had a strange beautiful woman staring at him like that, and for a brief moment he figured she had to be an angel, come to judge him and deem him hell bound.

But she were human, the feel of her hands under his arm real. She had a slight lilted accent to her words, her coloring and dark hair hinting at Mexican, but her English was better than his. Educated then, maybe one o’ those fancy lady schools out East. She didn’t dress like a lady though, looked more like a gunslinger, a man’s shirt tucked into high waist black jeans that hugged every curve to indecency. Her long hair was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and there was a pistol and knife on her simple leather gun-belt. She weren’t dressed for society, but practicality, and she’d put him in the cold ground and look a damn sight better than him doing it.

If it was a bounty she was after, she didn’t show it. Helped him inside, boiled water. Fetched his boots from wherever they’d gone to in the night, as well as his rifle. She tethered the horses close to the house, brought her saddle and packs indoors, and all Arthur could do was sit. Sit at the rickety table and stare at his arm, where he could remember the crack of bone, the tearing of muscle, yet, it wasn’t. Just faint lines that looked like wounds weeks healed.

_Somethin’ ‘aint right with you._

“I uh…” he cleared his throat, pulling his gaze away to watch the woman dig around in her bag. _Elena Vasquez,_ she’d said. Weren’t a name he’d heard of, but he’d been outta sorts lately. Didn’t know if that bode well for him or not. “I don’t…rightly know what’s happenin’.”

Maybe she was a specter, something his fever-mad brain conjured to keep him company. Still, he’d take this one over the others. Prettier at least. She produced a bottle from the bag, straightening and uncorking it with a pop.

“I take it you’ve never seen a Wendigo before.” She offered the bottle to him. “Try that. It’ll help with any pain.”

Arthur took it, fingers sliding on the cool glass. “Wendigo?”

She grabbed a chair from the corner, pulling it over to the table he slumped at, settling in across from him. The chair creaked as she leaned back in it. “Surprised a Northerner like you hasn’t seen one. Was a time they were pretty common up in these forests. Lost settlers I guess.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He took a swig from the bottle, surprised to find a thick syrup coat his tongue. Weren’t unpleasant, earthy tones and something soothing spreading down his throat when he swallowed. He sat the bottle back down, pushing it towards her.

“You got a pack?” she asked, those golden eyes fixed on him intently. “Wasn’t expecting to come across one of us up here, yet here you are. Alone. Fighting Wendigo’s for the fun of it.”

She didn’t make a lotta sense. Supposed that made two of them.

“You know a lot ‘bout it,” he grunted, crossing his arms. He couldn’t stand looking at them anymore. “How ‘bout we start there?”

She chuckled. “Not much for conversation are you?”

“I’m speakin’ right now.”

“But not saying much.”

“I’m not the one talkin’ ‘bout _Wendigos_ like it’s somethin’ normal.”

Elena shrugged. “Wendigos were men once, so I’m told. A cold winter blows in, pickings get slim, and a desperate man might look at his friends in a certain way. He happens to do it on sacred land and he’s in for a bad time.”

Sounded like one of Charles’ tales of the forest. Spirits and echoes of the past, Arthur hadn’t put much stock in it but respected the history behind it, the lore and traditions of a proud people that deserved more than they’d got.

“That so.”

“Over time, they change. They can never satisfy their pinching bellies, their skin turns sallow and pale.” She waggled her fingers, baring straight and white teeth. “Nails become claws, teeth become fangs. Until finally, they’re a stretched shadow of what they were, starving and desperate. They can never satisfy the emptiness inside, the gaping hole in their bellies.”

Arthur stifled a shudder. “Somethin’ like that can’t be real. Just an old wives tale.”

“You tell me,” she cocked her head. “You’re the one who tussled with it.”

The pale eyes. The slavering mouth. He could see it still, looming in the rafters. Unnatural. Arthur shook his head, disbelieving.

“I just…can’t get my head ‘round it. Why the hell would you hunt somethin’ like that willin’?”

She laughed, holding up her hand and rubbing her thumb against fore and middle fingers. “Why else? Got some folks down in Lemoyne who’ll pay nicely for just a finger, let alone what I could get for the rest of it.”

“The hell they want that for? Make a damn ugly trophy.”

One dark eyebrow arched. “Lots of rituals and potions call for Wendigo. Nasty ones usually, but if the money is good I’m not gonna judge. You never been that way?”

He’d spent a miserable week in the swamps once, hunting crocs and running from swamp people. Weren’t something he was in a hurry to do again.

“Sure. Didn’t see no swamp witches.”

“Swamp _witches_ -“ she broke off in another laugh. Arthur stiffened, temper flaring as she chuckled at his expense. She seemed to sense the shift and shook her head, holding up a hand in peace.

“I didn’t mean…” she huffed in a breath. “Sorry. Swamp witches. Jesus. No, none of them in those groves, just the Night Folk. Nasty critters, but they pay well if you have what they need and you’re too much of a fight for them to take it by force.”

So the swamp bastards had names. “They didn’t strike me as the barterin’ kind.”

Elena leant over, grabbing the mostly empty bottle of whiskey Arthur had left the other night. She had nice hands, long elegant fingers. “Normally, they aren’t. But they make exceptions for the likes of us. Suppose in a way we’re all distant family anyways.”

Couldn’t image she’d share any blood with those inbred bastards. She tilted her head back, drinking deeply from the dredges of the bottle and Arthur watched the long line of her throat swallow. The red shirt she wore was open at the neck, dipping just far enough he could see her collar bone. The warm skin of her throat beckoned, and he felt the same old itching in his gums.

He forced his gaze back to her face as she sighed appreciatively, the bottle clinking back to the floor as she tossed it.

“So. I talked, now it’s your turn. Where’s your pack? Your family?”

Strange way to phrase it. Arthur frowned, but he didn’t see the point in trying to avoid the question. He’d given her his real name, blurting it out without really thinking about the consequences. If she were going to kill him and drag his corpse in for a reward, she woulda done it already. He weren’t stupid, he wouldn’t reveal too much, but just enough would keep any other questions at bay.

“Down South. We’re…not on the good side of the law.”

To his surprise, she nodded, eyes softening in sympathy. “Amen to that. Not easy to live peaceful.”

She settled her hands on her flat belly, breathing out as she watched him. It was unnerving to be the focus of someone’s rapt attention, let alone a woman that looked like her. He couldn’t figure her out.

“You got young ones?” she asked. “We’re all grown now, but I remember what it was like moving from camp to camp as a pup.”

Arthur thought of Jack. Another thought after that, the old guilt and shame of a different boy, one he’d never had the right to mourn over. “One. ‘Aint mine. Wanted more for him than runnin’ place to place, but that’s the life we got.”

Elena nodded slowly. “Not easy, I know. Our pack has been flitting around New Austin for the past few years. It’s hot and dusty, but it suits us, I think. Managed to make nice with the locals at least.”

Not a bounty hunter then. Another gun for hire trying to find her place in the world. He relaxed slightly, surprised she had revealed that much to a stranger.

“You all make a habit outta huntin’ things that shouldn’t exist?”

She smiled, a slow curl of lips that made him swallow. “Of course. What else is there? My Uncle has a fondness for Chupacabra’s.”

“Now that I _know_ is bullshit,” Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Chupacabras. Next thing you’ll be tellin’ me Jackalope’s are real.”

She looked confused. “Well…yes. They are. Can’t throw a rock in the Hinterlands without hitting one. Breed fast. You’ve never seen one?” Her face twisted in a grimace. “Wait, you’re not…from one of those _traditionalist_ packs are you?”

Arthur blinked at her, genuinely uncomprehending what the hell she was on about. “From what now?”

“You know,” she made an odd motion with her hand. “Deniers. The ones who like to beat themselves up every full moon and jabber about punishments from God. Lock themselves up in communities and don’t set foot outside them to _avoid temptation._ ”

Silence. Arthur wondered if his mad brain had accidently conjured up someone madder than him. “I don’t follow.”

She stared at him, gaze so focused he started to feel uncomfortable, tapping his fingers nervously on the table. “What?”

“My god,” she said softly. “You have no idea, do you? What you are?”

Arthur froze, stomach dropping to his feet. A dark voice chuckled somewhere in the back of his skull.

_She’s onto you, Morgan. She can see the filth in you._

He was too warm and too cold all at once. The walls were too close, the air too stale. “I-…I-“ His tongue felt too big for his dry mouth, pulse fluttering sickly.

_She knows,_ Colm crowed, gleeful and poisoning. _Disgusting. Unclean. **Worthless.**_

He clambered to his feet, chair clattering over in a screech of noise. “I should…I should-“

Alarmed, Elena rose with him, palms bared. “Easy, Arthur. It’s alright. You’re alright.”

She spoke as if he were a spooked horse, and the anger surged unexpectedly, choking him. Panicked, he tried to swallow it down but the swirling tide rose higher, filling his lungs. He was losing himself to it, the dark feeling. He’d hurt her, this mad woman he didn’t know, he’d kill her, he’d sink his teeth in her throat, he’d tear her pretty face from her skull, he’d-

“ ** _Enough_** _!”_

Her voice cut through the swirling madness, a barked command he obeyed immediately. Blinking, the room came back into focus. He was hunched over the table towards her, fingers hooked into the wood, several inches of scratched grooves under his fingertips as if he’d…had he…?

Elena hadn’t moved, but her golden eyes seemed to shine, teeth suddenly longer and lips bared in a snarl that carefully relaxed back to a flat line as Arthur came back to himself. 

"I'm sick," he said lowly, sweat stinging his eyes as his arms trembled. Shame tugged on his ribs. "I'm...you should..."

"Arthur." He liked the way she said his name. Soothing. A balm to the burning in his throat. He relaxed his fingers, unhooking his nails from the splintered wood. "You need to rest. I didn't realize...I'm sorry."

What did she have to apologize for? She weren't the one about to...had he really thought about hurting her? He felt sick. The room spun at the thought, his belly churning.

"Arthur, you need to rest," Elena said. Didn't she know what he was? What he could do? She should be running. "You've been through a great deal. We can talk more in the morning."

It was barely late afternoon, the sky still light through the windows. "I don't-"

**"Follow me."** Her voice again, reverberating in his ears. Like he didn't have no control over his feet, he obeyed, followed as she led him away from the table, the deep scratches. She could lead him into hell and he'd follow, though he didn't know why, couldn't wrap his brain around the strange thought and where it came from. She led him upstairs, to the bed he'd claimed the night past, before Wendigo's and strange women and bad dreams. 

"Rest, Arthur," she whispered in his ear, and his eyelids went heavy, body sagging into the mattress as she gently pressed him down. He felt her pull a blanket over him, then a gentle touch to his temple. "I'll be here. Rest."

Arthur sank into the pleasant grey behind his eyelids, her name half formed in his mouth.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Night had settled on the forest, and Elena listened to the sounds of the forests, the hoots of howls and the odd call of a fox. The temperature had dropped significantly, her breath misting in a plume of smoke from her lips, and she watched it slowly curl into the sky. She’d climbed onto the roof of the house, overlooking the meadow and yard, the horses watching her as she settled with her legs crossed, rifle across her lap. She’d tried to put both horses back in the barn, but Arthur’s mare, Valkyrie, wasn’t haven’t any of it, rearing and trumpeting for her master. In the end Elena gave up, letting them roam the yard, trusting that Ghost would keep the mare close.

Then Elena settled in for a long watch.

Arthur slept inside, body and mind exhausted. She’d not realized, when she first saw him. Couldn’t distinguish in his scent the difference between him and her, or perhaps had simply been too excited to find another Were to notice it.

Arthur Morgan, was turning feral.

Elena breathed out shakily, tapping her fingers nervously against the cold metal of her rifle.

It wasn’t something she’d come across before, though she’d heard stories, and more of them as of late. The world kept getting smaller, the progress of technology shrinking the wilds and the creatures that called it home. Their kind either had to adapt to the new advanced world, or become a casualty of the old. Theirs was a hidden world, most humans never noticed it, too disconnected with nature to see beyond, see the beauty and wildness.

It could be a gift, or a curse to those who didn’t understand. Balance, was the key. If the scales tipped too far in either direction, then their world would crumble. If the beast was too strong, too angry, too _wild,_ a man could lose himself completely and forget he was ever human to begin with.

Elena was born into it, the way it should be. She had grown up in the security of her family who could guide her, show her the path and how to maintain the balance between human and beast. They had taught her how to run on four legs as well as two, how to hunt and smell the stories within the forests and plains. They taught her how to _be._

Arthur had been bitten. She could smell that now, the sickness that must have festered in the one who had bitten him, the pain and suffering. It festered like a wound, poisoning him. If she left him, he’d eventually succumb, become dangerous and no different from a rabid animal to be put down. He’d kill, she knew that. Had seen the power and rage in him as he’d snapped at her across the table.

Elena frowned, shifting her legs into a more comfortable position. It wasn’t any business of hers. She had come to kill the Wendigo, not take on struggling newborn Weres. It didn’t have anything to do with her. She should just pack Ghost up and be on her way.

But…he had been scared. She didn’t need her nose to tell her that. Arthur was alone. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, and he was losing control which only frightened him more. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if he was a good man or not, but…she wanted to help him. He had responded to her voice, her command to obey. He wasn’t too far gone, she could help him control the darkness, to mold it until he became something truly powerful.

After all, Elena had a weakness for abandoned strays.

Elena cast her eyes to the bright heavens, to the stars and hidden moon. Her people had stories that spanned generations, of heroes and Gods that walked up there, guiding the lives of those who lived down on Earth.

“Is there some purpose here?” she asked, the stars cold and distant as they glittered in the black sky. “Did you lead me here?”

Elena had long outgrown the stories told to her as a pup. But still she gazed hopefully up at the stars, hoping for a sign. A hint.

Nothing.

Ghost snorted at her from below. Elena glanced down at him with a scowl.

“No harm in trying.”

Valkyrie raised her pale head, shifting closer to the smaller gelding, bumping her flank against his. Ghost resumed his grazing, and Elena watched the two for a while, amused that Ghost had taken to the larger mare so quickly. She was clearly still skittish from the Wendigo, and the presence of another horse had helped, calming her. Company.

_A pack._

Elena glanced back towards the open window, where she could hear Arthur’s soft snores. It would be…nice, to have company, she supposed.

In the forest, a twig snapped.

Elena swiveled her attention towards it, holding her breath as she listened intently. The horses had heard it too, twin heads up and ears pricked forward.

Elena leaned forward, staring into the tree line intently, sniffing deeply. She could smell deer, fox. Stoat, squirrel, rabbit. Mouse, chipmunk…and…

It burst from the trees before her attention landed on it, barreling towards the house with a bellow, crushing plants beneath it’s huge paws.

Not the Wendigo. A _bear._

Elena whistled, sharp and piercing, and Ghost took off, Valkyrie falling into step behind him as the horses galloped out of the yard and into the field. The bear zeroed in on the movement, bypassing the fence and following it around the house.

Elena tossed her rifle, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it up her torso and off over her head quickly. The cool air made her skin prickle, but she was already wriggling out of her jeans with practiced ease, kicking them aside as she ran the length of the roof. No good in shredding the few clothes she had.

The change for her was easy, she’d been doing it since a young child. Like shrugging on a worn coat, her skin rippled, bones cracking and shifting into stronger forms. By the time she leapt off the roof, she landed on the ground on all fours.

The night exploded into smells, sights and sounds as her vision shifted and sharpened from human to beast, and she chased after the bear easily, baring her fangs and snapping at it’s flank. She could smell the dirt on it’s fur, the musk underneath. An older male, reaching the end of his years and finding food hard to catch. Grass slapped against her face and shoulders, burrs pulling at her beige fur as she loped easily alongside of the beast, crushing heather beneath paw.

_Away brother bear, these are not prey._

The bear ignored her, singularly focused on the horses, sticky saliva dribbling down it’s black gums. Elena was smaller than it, her people were only desert wolves, not like their much larger Northern cousins, built for speed and not muscle. But she’d killed larger and worse than a hungry bear.

She snapped at a large haunch, sinking teeth into muscle. The bear bellowed, pain breaking through its single-minded concentration as it swung it’s large head around towards her. Elena darted away, using the longer stalks of lavender for cover and the bear slowed stupidly, growling. Ghost led Valkyrie further away, knowing Elena well enough to trust that she’d distract the predator.

_Back to the forest, brother bear._

She harried it, darting out of reach when it tried to swipe her. Confused, it curled in on itself to protect it’s more vulnerable belly, large head swaying and trying to follow her. Bears were quick to anger, but easily confused which made them slow. Always better to deal with them in animal form, the crack of a rifle could enrage them beyond all sense.

She bowed her front legs, barking in a taunt. The bear bellowed again, charging, and she easily avoided it, turning quickly on her paws to land another bite that was more fur than flesh.

The bear grumbled, knowing he was defeated. He lumbered back towards the safety of the forest, pride stinging and Elena watched him go, head held high and tongue lolling between her teeth as she panted. The bear paused just before the trees, grumbling and turned it’s huge head towards the ranch, sniffing deeply.

Too late Elena picked up the same scent. A hulking form descended on the bear, separating from the shadows. White teeth flashed, and the hot scent of blood, metallic and cloying sprayed across the field towards Elena.

She growled, throwing herself forward, shoulders surging to push herself as quickly as she could to the tussling two. She felt like she was flying, paws barely touching the earth, her heart pounding in her mouth.

_Arthur, no!_

The bear was on its back, bellowing and twisting to avoid the snapping teeth that searched out it’s throat. Arthur was imposing as a man, even battered and bruised, but as a wolf…he was _terrifying._

Black fur, he blended into the night, only his eyes, pale and luminous giving him away. He snapped and snarled with little finesse, but with devastating power. He worried at the bear, powerful neck tugging back and forth as he tore muscle and sinew. With a weak protest, the bear slumped beneath him, eyes rolling and Arthur clamped down on its unprotected throat, crushing its windpipe.

Elena knew it was too late. The bear was dead no matter what she did, no match for the stronger wolf, but she was _furious._ Its death was unnecessary, the battle easily avoided. She slammed her shoulder into Arthur’s flank, startling him enough that he let go of the dying bear, spinning to face her, lips curled back to show bloodied fangs.

His thoughts were a garbled mess she couldn’t understand- pictures and words that didn’t make any sense. He advanced on her, stiff legged and angry, dark fur bristling.

**_Mine._ **

A word she could hear over the din. Red-tinged salvia dripped from his mouth.

**_My kill. Mine._ **

Elena held her head high, tail stiff as she stared him down.

_No._

He snapped his jaws together, but she held her ground, lip curled in warning, nails digging into the dirt.

**_Weak. Kill._ **

_No._

He paused in front of her, head swaying as he tried to make sense of the smells and sights. It would be overwhelming she guessed and his eyes couldn’t focus, flitting away from her to look quickly in different directions.

 _Arthur,_ she thought firmly, and his pale eyes snapped back to hers. _Remember._

He surged towards her, jaws snapping.

**_WEAK._ **

She neatly sidestepped the charge, and as he stumbled past her, she grabbed him hard at the back of the neck, locking her jaw and sinking her teeth into thick fur and skin. It was trick her Uncle had often used on her and her cousins when they’d gotten out of hand, though they had been a great deal smaller than Arthur was. She braced herself, expecting him to fight her, but the larger wolf seemed to slump at the contact, curling down beneath her.

 _Calm,_ she ordered, giving him a shake. _Calm, wolf._

He whined, and curled his tail between his legs, the anger leeching quickly out of him. She could feel his muscles relax, the loose skin in her mouth heavy. She waited a minute, two, but he showed no sign of fighting her again. Cautiously she relaxed her jaw, stepping away from him. He remained on his belly, watching her with confused eyes.

 _Your name,_ she prompted, towering over him, asserting her authority with a growl and flash of her fangs. He whined. _What’s your name, wolf._

He looked uncertain, glancing from her to the ground.

**_I am wolf._ **

Elena snorted. _You are more than that._

Her fur rippled, joints creaking and contorting. The transformation hurt, but the years of practice had dulled the ache, and her legs shifted, spine straightening and paws narrowing, lengthening into fingers. A breath and she was human again, and she rose to her full height, looming over him. Nudity didn’t bother her, and she placed her hands on her bare hips, glaring down at him.

“The bear was no threat,” she said, and Arthur’s ears flattened to his skull, eyes narrowing. “You killed him for no reason.”

A low whine. 

“If you’re going to act like an animal, you’ll be one, Arthur. Do you understand?”

His tail slowly thumped against the dirt. A feral was dangerous because he was alone. If she could just prevent that, if she could teach him the ways he should have been taught by his pack, he may stand a chance. She hadn’t seen a wolf with his strength before. If he could harness it…

“I can help you,” she said, shivering now in the cold air in her human skin. She rubbed her bare arms. “But you’ll have to listen to me. You’ll have to obey. Can you do that, wolf?”

 ** _Yes._** He inched towards her on his belly, eager to please. **_Yes, leader. Alpha. Obey._**

Elena looked towards the still form of the bear. No movement from its ribs, aged greying face still. A steep cost for a first lesson.

“Good. Now I’d like to talk to the human Arthur. Change, wolf.”

His change wasn’t as elegant as hers, bones cracking and reforming with agonizing slowness. But he obeyed, bristling black fur slowly receding to human pink, eyes dimming back to tired blue. At his shocked expression, she guessed it was the first time he’d been lucid for a change, the wolf ceding control back to the human willingly. If it was painful for him, he hid it well.

He blinked in the dim light, and she could see the blush that blossomed up his neck as he ducked his head, covering himself and refusing to look at her as he crouched in the dirt. His back was littered in scars, some old, others more fresh, pinker. Burns. Bullet holes. Far more than a man should have.

“What the _sweet hell-_ “ he rattled off a list of curses that would have made any other lady blush. “You’re- I’m-“

“I wish I could ease you into this, Arthur,” Elena interrupted him, crossing her arms to hide her breasts. “But the world you’re a part of now isn’t forgiving. You’re powerful, and dangerous.”

Arthur closed his eyes, hands clenching into fists. “I told you I was sick.”

Elena crouched down to his level, reaching out to touch the back of his hand. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. He smelled miserable, ashamed and bitter. She wanted to comfort him, tell him all would be well, but that wasn’t the way of their kind.

“It shouldn’t have been done to you the way it was,” she said quietly. “You were bitten, Arthur. It would have seemed only a large wolf to you, but it was a Were, much like I am. We call them ferals, ones who have lost themselves to the beast within and gone mad with it. The change would have been gradual, out of your control. A feral will beget a feral, if not taught otherwise.”

He raised his head to look at her then, searching her face desperately. “The nights I…forget. I thought I was goin’ mad.”

“You can’t control your change. Not yet. When you’re angry, or fearful, or feeling _weak…_ the wolf takes over.”

Slowly, Arthur got to his feet with a wince. His hands hovered over his groin, embarrassed, but he was looking at her intently.

“You sayin’…you can teach me how to control it? This…wolf?”

“I can try,” she said honestly. “I won’t promise you’ll ever be able to turn it on and off like a born Were could, but I can teach you to use it. To be at peace with it.”

He nodded, and she felt a rush of respect for him. His whole world changed in a blink, and he took it calmly enough, accepting his new reality. A strange man this Arthur Morgan.

“And uh…” again a faint blush, and he looked over her shoulder, resolutely staring at a point beyond her ear. “It always end up…like this?”

She took his meaning. Elena laughed, uncrossing her arms to bare her breasts. It made him go a deep red, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he stared more intensely over her shoulder.

“I’m afraid clothes never survive the change,” she said with a smile. “Modesty isn’t something we worry about.”

She reached out, pressing her palm to the warm skin of his shoulder. There was a cut there, something dark and wicked scratched into his muscle. “Don’t be ashamed, Arthur. We’re as God designed after all.”

“You believe in that? Maybe God didn’t have much say in it.”

She shrugged, squeezing the skin under her fingers. “I think we’re but small brushstrokes in a much larger painting.”

Arthur laughed, surprising her. The sound was deep and clear, rolling in his chest like thunder over a valley. She hadn’t heard him laugh, and found herself leaning into the sound, relishing the warmth.

“Well reckon we can debate philosophy inside somewhere warm where we ‘aint both stark ass naked?”

Elena trailed her eyes down his chest, the jumping muscles and coarse fair hair. “Not sure, I kind of like the view out here.”

A strangled sound from Arthur, and she took pity on him, chuckling and linking her arm with his. “Alright, sorry. Come on. I could use a drink.”

She whistled for Ghost, and the gelding whinnied, looping back around the meadow with Valkyrie at his side. In the morning they'd deal with the bear, take the skin and meat and put it's body to rest in the way it deserved. She would teach Arthur the words and rituals she had been taught, how to respect life that has been given and taken.

Together, the odd pack slowly hobbled back to the ranch.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spooky warning. *cackles*

* * *

They spent the next few days at the ranch, Elena patiently putting up with Arthur’s disbelieving questions. Still didn’t feel real, like a weird dream. Wendigos, Weres, things that should’ve only existed in stories, like the novels Jack always begged Hosea to read him before bed.

Couldn’t argue with it when she turned though, going from human to wolf. Couldn’t say he wasn’t one, when he’d felt his bones shifting, could remember the taste of bear in his mouth. It wasn’t so easy for him like it was her, but it started to make more sense, the roiling unease in his chest, the anger and want to just _bite._

She were patient. Told him that there were others like them. Packs across the Americas, in Europe. From even further East to lands neither of them had ever heard of, full of even more fantastical creatures. Not all Weres were wolves, she said. It depended on bloodlines, on families and where they came from. He’d joked about were-squirrels and she’d laughed for a good long while, until tears streamed down her face, and a warm feeling had settled behind Arthur’s ribs. Maybe there were, Elena didn’t know. The world was bigger than the two of them, and there was plenty of it to discover.

She told him about Jackalopes and Chupacabras, of giant scaled wyverns that nested high in the mountains, big as a house. Forest creatures, desert creatures, the unreal and strange was just around every corner and she spoke of it all without a trace of a lie. She started to teach him how to smell, how to pick out the different scents on a person or out in the forest. To listen to what the forest was saying, and interpret it. Stories were everywhere, she said. He just had to learn to read them.

Finally, she told him about her family. A rag-tag band of misfits, some related, others not, a pack of near a dozen that had settled in the dry dusts of New Austin. Their leader was a man called Anton, and all the younger ones called him Uncle, though no-one was entirely sure if he actually _was_. It didn’t matter, and Elena spoke of him fondly. Her own parents were long dead, caught on the business end of a poacher’s rifle, dying in their wolf forms and no doubt adorning a rich family’s wall somewhere. She spoke of it matter of fact, and Arthur gathered a few of their family had gone the same way over the years.

Arthur told her a bit about the gang, about their long journey over the mountains from Blackwater. About the mess in Strawberry, the Pinkertons. Dutch would have his head if he found out Arthur was blurting out the Van der Linde story, but it seemed small in comparison to the world Arthur was now facing. Elena listened closely, interested in their capers, laughing as Arthur described his drunken night looking for Lenny in Valentine.

He didn’t tell her about the O’Driscolls. Just said there was a fight, and she didn’t press him, but no doubt she could smell the lie on him.

 _Coward,_ Colm hissed weakly, but even his voice seemed quieter, more subdued.

It were the closest thing to peace Arthur’d had in months. In the evening they’d squeeze into the small kitchen and cook a meal together, bickering over what herbs to use and the best way to prepare the meat. She were stubborn, much like him, but in the end someone would compromise and it’d turn out just as good, better, usually.

They kept watch in shifts, one at the beginning of the night, the other taking over a few hours before morning. Elena said it was unlikely the Wendigo would return after facing Arthur’s wrath, but once it’s meal of dead O’Driscolls ran out it’d be hunting again. They’d need to go after it soon, but could afford a few days rest.

And Arthur…Arthur couldn’t get the sight of Elena outta his brain. Her long bare legs, the junction where her thighs met, dusted with dark hair. The smooth curve of her hips he wanted to fit his palms to, her flat belly and full breasts. Had been a long time since he’d seen a naked woman, even longer that he’d been sober enough to fully appreciate the view. She said nudity weren’t nothing to be ashamed about, and Lord knew she didn’t _have_ nothing to be ashamed of.

But Arthur was. The day after he killed the bear, he’d gotten so hot and bothered _rememberin’_ how she’d looked, proud and naked under the night sky. He’d fled to one of the outhouses, pressing a palm hard against himself through his newly repaired jeans, leaning against the wood slats. He hadn’t touched himself since…well, since. First time he’d tried, he’d bent over his cot and threw up every last drop of whiskey he’d downed to give himself courage. It reminded him too much of others touching him there, of hands in the dark and dirty words slurred into his ear.

But thinking of _her…_ it were easy. Too easy, to shove a desperate hand down his jeans and drag himself to a rough panting completion, like a horny young teen just saw his first tit. Too late he remembered Elena’s lesson about _smells,_ and he near decided it were easier facing the Wendigo after all. But when he slunk back to the house shamed, practically dripping in water where he’d doused himself in the creek hoping to wash the smell of _that_ off him, she’d just smiled at him and asked him to chop carrots for dinner. He felt like a dirty old man, and resolutely told himself he wouldn’t lose it like that again, she deserved more respect than that. It had just…been too long, was all.

She slept on the other bed upstairs, sometimes stealing the only pillow when he was on watch, and the smell of her on it after had his head spinning. Couldn’t describe it, but it made his chest ache something fierce, but for once, not in a bad way. If he buried his face in it once or twice, that was his business and no-one elses.

On the fourth day, she announced it was time. It was time to hunt her original prey down, and he was coming with her.

“I don’t get a say in this?” Arthur grumbled, checking to ensure Valkyrie’s saddle was cinched tight, his few belongings and bedroll carefully strapped to the back. “Maybe I don’t wanna go huntin’ that ugly bastard.”

Elena shrugged, already packed and mounted on her smaller Criollo gelding. He was a sturdy horse, with a handsome grey coat, white blaze and socks. Arthur would’ve considered stealin’ him, before.

“Think of it this way Arthur, _money.”_

She laughed at his glare, honey eyes bright in the sun. With a grunt he got his foot into the stirrup, hoisting himself up and into the saddle. Valkyrie was eager, snorting and stamping the ground impatiently.

“You never did say how much it’s worth,” Arthur said, pulling his mare back under control. “What we talkin’ exactly?”

Elena nudged Ghost into a trot, passing through the ranch entrance. A part of him was sad to say goodbye to the place, and as he followed, he leant in the stirrups to touch the fence post, brushing his fingertips over the coarse wood.

Up ahead, Elena turned to watch him in the saddle. Ghost plodded on, the stalks of lavender trailing high up his legs. “Well, the Night Folk asked for a hand, and they’d pay a hundred for it. I have a contact in St. Denis that would probably pay around nine hundred for the rest.”

Arthur accidently tugged on the reins in surprise. Valkyrie tossed her head, nearly headbutting him in the face. “Wh…sorry, girl. What you say? We’ll get a cold _thousand_ for this thing?”

Elena laughed, urging Ghost into a canter. “We, Arthur? Play your cards right and I just might give you a cut.”

Even a couple o' hundred would keep the gang well fed and clothed. Hell, a couple hundred might just be enough to tip the scales and get them the hell outta dodge and well on their way West and away from Pinkertons.

They rode side by side, moving from the meadow back up into the dense forest. Valkyrie gave way to Ghost, letting the smaller gelding pick their path. Sunlight dappled the forest floor, and though the air was cool, the warmth of the sun still reached them, warming the back of Arthur’s neck.

“Where we thinkin’ it’s gone off to?” Arthur finally asked, hearing a deer thunder away from them, crashing through leaves and plants.

Elena ducked under a branch. She’d forgone her hat, and her dark hair hung loose down her shoulders. _The sign of a loose woman,_ Susan Grimshaw would have clucked, disapproving and stern. There were a fair few things she’d probably disapprove about Elena, Arthur imagined.

“I think it’s headed for the base of the mountain,” Elena said. She wore a black blouse, more fitted to her form but still open to the collarbone, flashing bronze skin and it was doing things to Arthur’s insides. “There’s a series of cave systems it’s probably nested in, what I was originally looking for when I came across the ranch and you. Wendigos like the cool and dark.”

_A cave?_

Old fear bubbled. Arthur concentrated on breathing, counting slowly to ten as Elena had taught him. He were alright. Don’t let the fear take over. He was stronger than it, more than it.

“Arthur?” Elena’s voice carried back to him, worried. She would smell it, the sudden shift in him. Couldn’t hide things from a Were.

“’M alright,” he called back. He squeezed his thighs around Valkyrie, a reminder that he was there, he was present. He was a man, not beast. The smell of horse surrounded him, comforting. “I just…don’t do well in places like that.”

Elena slowed Ghost so they could ride side by side. Her knee nudged his boot. “Me neither. We’ll draw it out, into the light where it’s eyes are sensitive.”

Arthur swallowed. “Yeah.”

It was a comfortable silence after that. Elena had said Weres healed fast, and Arthur glanced at his arm, where the Wendigo had gotten him last. Nothing more than smooth skin now, just a tell-tale pale scar. Scars would always remain, she told him, and he had quite a few. Explained why he survived Colm though, why he didn’t succumb to the beatings, the torture, the-

 _Say it,_ Colm taunted. _Better yet, tell **her** what you did. She won’t stick with you long after that. She’ll leave you like the others did. _

“You plannin’ to go to Saint Denis then?” Arthur said suddenly, too loudly. It interrupted the voice inside his skull, and Elena startled, gripping the reins more tightly. “Uh…I mean after.”

She recovered, shifting in the saddle. “Well, I’ll probably head to Valentine first, restock provisions and send word ahead that I’m coming with it. But then, yeah.”

“You uh…need an escort?” It sounded pitiful, even to his ears. Like hell she needed an escort, here was a woman who was prepared to hunt and fight a Wendigo before he got in the way. He slowed her down.

“I don’t _need_ one, but I’d welcome your company,” she smiled, and again that funny tightening in his chest. “Seeing as you’re helping me take this thing down, I’ll give you half of the take. It’s only fair.”

It were generous.

“Besides,” she flicked the reins, urging Ghost a bit further ahead. A warm syrupy smell hit Arthur’s nose and he sniffed cautiously, not sure what it was. “I like having you around.”

It were a good thing she rode ahead, she didn’t have to see the stupid smile that he couldn’t quite get off his face.

* * *

Late afternoon, after a brief stop to water the horses at a brisk stream, they came to a clearing. They were at a higher elevation than the ranch had been, but not so high the air was thin. It was colder, but the ground was still soft, without frost. In the clearing, hidden up against the mountain face itself, was a small village.

Elena consulted her map with a frown, spreading out the paper against Ghost’s neck. “This isn’t on my map.”

Arthur pulled Valkyrie to a halt, studying each building. There were only about six or seven, all small log cabins at best with one larger building built into the rocky mountainside. Beside it was a jagged mine shaft that disappeared into the rock, old rusting tracks stopping just outside.

“Maybe settled after your map was drawn,” Arthur grunted, noting the weathered wood and cracked slats. One cabin had all but tumbled down, the roof collapsing inwards and walls sagging. “But it’s abandoned now.”

With an irritated growl, Elena balled up the map. “Great. Well I guess that’s a cave, alright. What can you smell?”

Arthur sniffed suspiciously. Dust, rotting wood. The faint musk of forest critters that had passed through or settled in the buildings. Everything just smelled _old,_ even the animals. Maybe…a hint of metal. Blood?

“Nothing’s been here for a while,” Arthur decided, and Elena nodded, amber eyes flitting between the buildings.

“What can you hear?”

Arthur listened. Where the forest had been alive with the sounds of singing birds and chattering animals during the ascent, it was deathly quiet. Not even a cricket chirped. The realization had the hair on the back of his neck and arms stiff.

“Nothin’,” he said grimly. “I take it that’s a sign.”

Elena swung her leg over the saddle, sliding to the ground. Spurs clinked as she took Ghost’s lead, picking through the rocks hidden by overgrown weeds. “I’d say so. Animals know better than to make a home where the Wendigo nests.”

Arthur dismounted, patting Valkyrie’s neck soothingly as she snorted. “How many Wendigo’s you fought, anyways?”

"Honestly?" Elena crouched, studying something the grass. “Two. And I had the pack at my back then.”

The silence of the place was unnerving. Arthur swallowed. “And why’d you decide to go after this one alone?”

Elena stood, dusting off her knees. “Proving to myself that I can.”

“Sounds like suicide.”

Elena shrugged, leading Ghost towards the mine entrance, to the larger building. “At some point all Weres go off into the world to prove themselves. Not everyone can stay with the pack. Why _not_ hunt Wendigos?”

Arthur tugged Valkyrie, following. Once there must have been a path, but it was just jagged rock pieces now. “Prefer a hot bath myself.”

“That so?” The door to the building was intact, creaking and sending dust showering down as Elena pushed it open. “Is that what you were looking for all the way out here, shooting outlaws?”

She ducked through the doorway, pulling Ghost behind her, simply chuckling at Arthur’s scowl. The horse just about squeezed through the door, disappearing behind her into the shadows of the building.

“That wise?” Arthur called in after her, watching the mine entrance uneasily. “Could be anythin’ in there.”

“It’s fine, Arthur,” her voice echoed back to him. “I’m not leaving the horses out there with evening just around the corner. They’ll be safest indoors.”

With a curse, Arthur ducked through, pulling on Valkyrie’s reins to follow. She refused at first, but at Ghost's reassuring whinny, she picked her way over the threshold, jostling up behind Arthur as close as she could get. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside, thick dust tickling his nose.

It had been a canteen of some sort- rows of log tables and benches were set out in a line in the center of the room. To the left, a door hung on decaying hinges, and Arthur could just see through to a pantry of some sort, thick with cobwebs. Something else tickled his nose here, rotten and foul. Not strong, just a hint, but enough to make him wince, trying to breathe out his mouth.

Elena was settling in Ghost at the back of the room, sliding his saddle off. Judging by her grimace, she smelled it too.

“We stayin’?” Arthur asked, bringing Valkyrie over. Her head brushed the ceiling, ears trailing in cobwebs, and she pinned her ears back, annoyed. “That don’t smell right.”

Elena set the saddle on one of the benches. “We don’t have much choice. I’m not risking us getting caught out in the forest after dark. Not on its hunting grounds. This might not have been on my map, but the cave system isn't too far. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine they mined into it.”

“So getting cornered inside like rats is better?” Arthur asked, but he was unbuckling Valkyrie’s saddle, getting her settled in. Elena turned to him, hands on her hips.

“I need you to trust me, Arthur. The Wendigo hunts best at night, when it can see. But it’s not a ghost, it can’t pass through walls. Whatever this community was, this was their strongest building, half wood and rock.”

Arthur glanced around at the empty room. Some of the benches were turned over, the tables crooked. “Doesn’t look like it did them much good.”

“Come on,” Elena pulled her rifle out, holding it closely. Arthur grabbed his Springfield, the metal familiar in his hands. “Let’s check out those other buildings.”

The horses safely put inside, Elena and Arthur split the small village between them. Most of the buildings were so derelict it weren’t worth more than a cursory glance, but at least three were still intact. Arthur pushed his way into one, blowing aside the cobwebs that brushed against his face.

Not much to see, a small cabin set up with a bed against the far wall, an old stove and a table. Whoever these people had been, they were long gone. His boots creaked on the rotting floorboards, and Arthur touched the dusty table, running a finger against the metal plates and cutlery laid out. Left in a hurry maybe?

“Arthur!” Elena called out to him. A last glance around the dusty home, and he closed the door, sealing it back up. Elena was on the porch of the next cabin over, mouth flat in a grim line.

“You find something?” Arthur jogged over. Elena jerked her head to the open doorway. The door was splintered, barely a door anymore. Like something had forced its way inside.

“You could say that.”

The smell of old decay made him cough, eyes watering. It weren’t fresh, but the smell still lingered. Inside, the table had been overturned, creating a barricade towards the door. The bed was up against the wall, mattress torn and straw scattered on the floor.

Behind the overturned table were two bodies. Arthur stepped into the room, boots clattering against old cans. The bodies were side by side, one seeming to cradle the other, and Arthur’s heart sank.

A woman and child. The bodies were mostly skeleton, with pieces of mummified flesh still clinging to the yellowed bones. The woman was curled around the smaller child, their dresses crusted with red and yellow stains.

Elena stooped in the doorway, picking up a shattered picture frame from the mess. Carefully she fished the faded photograph out from the glass.

“They tried to barricade themselves in,” she said quietly. “It came in anyways.”

Arthur swallowed, unable to take his eyes off them. The woman’s skull was clean of flesh, and if he looked too closely he could see marks in the bone, deep groves and smaller shallow scratches.

 _Teeth._ A phantom pain lanced through his arm. He rubbed it nervously.

“You asked me why I’m hunting a Wendigo,” Elena said, coming to stand beside him. Together they stared down at the last moments of a desperate mother trying to protect her child. “ _This_ is why. There are many beautiful things in our world, Arthur. But this isn’t one of them. This is a monster that has to be put down before it hurts anyone else.”

She handed him the photograph. It was a family. A man and woman looked humorlessly at the camera, a little girl and older boy beside them. Old fashioned clothing, more like pioneers.

“You think the Wendigo did this?” Arthur asked. “Wipe out this whole village?”

Elena looked one more time at the bodies, before ducking out the doorway back into the fresher afternoon air.

“I think the winter hit them hard,” she said as Arthur followed her, leaving the photograph on the overturned table. Best not disturb what ghosts rested here. “Harder than they anticipated. This was an illegal mining operation, Arthur, otherwise it would have been on my map. They came looking for riches, got cut off when the deep snows came. I think they were forced to make a choice, and they suffered as a consequence.”

She hefted her rifle, staring towards the mine entrance. “And I think that consequence is down there.”

Arthur weren’t too proud to admit that the thought scared him. He could remember it, the shape in the barn, the _scream._ To face that down there, where the walls closed in and visibility was nothing…

“ _Hell_ no,” Arthur said loudly. “You said we’d draw it out, so let’s draw it out. We’re not goin’ down there.”

She looked like she was considering it, eyes far away, like a shadow crossing the sun. Arthur stepped in close, tapping the butt of her rifle with his. “We ‘ _aint,_ Elena.”

She came to, eyes flaring back to life. “I like the way you say my name, Arthur.”

That stumped him. He floundered for words for a moment, then scowled as she laughed. The empty houses seemed to crowd in at the sound, yearning and lost.

“Alright, you’re right. Going into it’s lair isn’t the best idea. It just…gets under my skin. That girl-“

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Well. Let’s shout down that hole and see if we can make it mad enough to come out.”

“That’s the plan?” She was already striding away, marching up to the mine entrance like there wasn’t a monster just waiting to pounce. Goddamn, this woman. “You just gonna _shout_ it to death?”

“You got a better plan? Normally I’d bait it with deer, but that son-of-a-bitch has eaten enough.”

Anything to avoid going down there. _What's the matter? Afraid of the dark?_

"You're a bit crazy, you know that?" Arthur grumbled, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He peered into the mine, couldn't see anything beyond a few feet. "Maybe not even just a bit. A _whole lotta_ crazy."

"Funnily enough, you're not the first one to say that," she flashed a grin at him. "Won't be the last either, I wager."

Arthur sighed. "It's always the pretty ones."

"Arthur!" Elena batted her eyes at him, striking a sultry pose he'd seen many a saloon girl take. "Is that a _flirtation?_ Why I do declare."

Embarrassment tinged his neck and cheeks pink. But he laughed, enjoying the gentle teasing. Been a while.

"Well I got eyes."

"Hm. And such pretty ones."

Another flush of heat to his face. Weren't often he got paid a compliment, and flustered Arthur peered intently into the darkness. "So, we just...hollerin'?"

" _HEY YOU BASTARD!"_ Elena bellowed down the tunnel. Her voice bounced off the walls, rattling down further until it tapered back into silence. They both listened, but nothing moved.

If the Wendigo was there, it wasn't going to make it easy on them.

* * *

They’d tried shouting down, rattling pans and throwing rocks. Nothing, not even a scuttle. Arthur even dared a few steps inside, Elena at his side to see if they could smell anything. But the mine shaft just continued on and on, darkness stretching deeper. Who knew how many tunnels the miners managed to dig before death came, the Wendigo could be miles and miles underground.

The light was fading. The air was getting colder, the sun slowly withdrawing and the shadows growing longer. Finally, Elena threw up her hands. She’d perched herself on a rock outside the entrance, staring into the darkness like she could intimidate it into submission. Probably could.

“Well that plan was a bust,” she rolled her shoulders, rubbing her neck. “It might come up tonight, after all that ruckus. Or it’s not even in there to begin with, and has found another nest. God- _dammit._ ”

She was frustrated, he could hear it in her voice and smell it, a burnt smoky curl in his nose. “We can keep watch.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, getting up. “I need to relieve myself. I won’t go far, can you get the horses fed?”

“Alone?” Arthur frowned. “Don’t think-“

“Arthur,” she interrupted, holding her hand up. “I don’t need you to watch me _pissing._ Just get the horses fed. I’ll be right back.”

Arthur wisely let it go, watching her storm towards the tree line, shoulders rigid and tense. Not a woman who dealt with losing well. He made a note not to play poker with her.

Both horses nickered as he entered the building, leaving the door open to let some of the dying light in. Ghost heaved himself up onto his legs, Valkyrie bumping against one of the tables as she moved to greet Arthur. He chuckled, gently cupping her soft nose, tickling her lips with his fingers.

“She’ll be back in a bit. How ‘bout we rustle you both up some food?”

A few stale carrots wasn’t much but both horses ate them down happily, and Arthur checked his pack seeing what he could put together for a quick meal. Some left over cans of salmon and vegetables, some peaches and half a bar of chocolate he had carefully stowed at the bottom of his pack. They could risk a fire and heat up the salmon, but he wasn't sure if they should risk it, he should wait for Elena to come back.

The silence settled around him. Looking around the room more closely, Arthur tried to see past it as Elena had told him.

 _Everything has a story,_ she’d said. _Sometimes you can see it, if you concentrate._

Arthur breathed deep, sifting through the smells. Dust. Wood. Horse. Faintly, very faintly…people. He dug deeper, tugging on the smell, tried to imagine what the people would have looked like, the murmur of their voices as they gathered in the hall, cold fingers wrapped around bowls that were barely full. The smell of their panic, their fear. The winter had been so cold, taking the weakest of them already. The ground was too cold to bury them, the bodies kept in the cool refuge of the mines. The children were starving. Surely…surely it wouldn’t be such a sin. To use what was already there, to not _waste._ God would understand. They were so hungry. Surely-

“ _Arthur!”_

Arthur snapped to, blinking. Nothing but a dusty old room, the two horses settled back down. Cobwebs trailed softly in the breeze from the open door. Had that been Elena?

“ _Arthur!”_

Definitely Elena. With a curse, Arthur grabbed his rifle, floorboards creaking alarmingly underfoot as he bolted through the doorway. The forest was darker now, but the sun was still up, just dipping beyond the horizon.

“Elena?” He called, scanning the tree line. “Where-“

“ _Arthur!”_

His heart stuttered. Her voice had echoed from the mine. Arthur turned to it, approaching it slowly, disbelieving. “Elena?”

Had she gone in? What would possess her to go in there alone? She had seemed upset, but…she wouldn't…

“ _Arthur!”_ Her voice was more faint, as if moving away. As if she was being carried. _Dragged._ Arthur swore, fingers gripping the rifle tight. He couldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t.

“I’m comin’!” Arthur hollered, heart hammering as he approached the mine. “Keep shoutin’!”

“ _Arthur…”_ It was so faint. Arthur swallowed. He could do this. He had to. He bent, grabbing one of the oil lamps Elena had tested earlier. With shaking fingers he managed to get it lit, holding it out in front of him with one hand, rifle in the other.

“I’m comin’!” He shouted, taking a deep breath and stepping in. The shadows seemed to swallow him as he entered. “Where are you?”

Silence. Arthur hurried down the shaft, the lamp casting a short circle of light in front of him. Slowly the light from outside dimmed as he moved deeper inside. There were tracks where they’d run a cart once, and the walls seemed sturdy, supported by wooden beams that seemed still intact. He tried to concentrate on the light rather than the darkness that swallowed up everything beyond it. He could hear something now, something running far ahead, away from him. He could hear the scattering of dirt as it moved, the brush of it’s body against rock.

Arthur broke into a run, the light bouncing wildly. “Elena! Let her go, you bastard!”

“ _Arthur!”_ her voice, a little louder. Arthur grit his teeth, pushing himself harder, the pounding of his boots on rock echoing off the walls that grew narrower.

The tunnel veered to the right, and he skidded, using his elbow to push against the wall to get himself back on the path. There was a fork, left or right. Arthur panted, holding the lamp high to squint down one, than the other.

“Elena!” he shouted, ears straining to listen. “Say somethin’, darlin’!”

Nothing. Silence, that seemed to grow thicker around him, the darkness crowding in.

“ _Shit.”_ Arthur hovered, indecisive. Left or right? She could die if he didn’t-

A rock clattered down the left tunnel. Arthur zeroed in on the sound, a snarl bursting forth from him as he ran down the left tunnel. It thought it could take her, could it? He’d show it, he’d _kill it._

Arthur didn’t try to control the wolf that rose in him, the anger that made him want to snap and savage. If it had hurt her, if it had _dared,_ he’d rip it to pieces, tear it’s limbs off one by one. Make it _suffer,_ make it writhe and scream and-

A wall loomed in his lamp light. Arthur skidded to a halt, holding the lamp high, disbelieving.

It was a dead end.

“No!” he snarled, casting around. “It can’t be, I heard-“

A chuckle echoed down the tunnel. Arthur whirled around, rifle booming as his finger twitched on the trigger.

There was nothing there.

The tunnel reverberated with the gunshot, rattling off into the darkness until the tunnel fell back into a stifling silence, only broken by Arthur’s heaving breaths. The tunnel pressed in on him.

“Shit, shit, no, I…I must’ve taken a turn…” he forced himself to take a deep breath. In. Out. He’d retrace his steps. There was only the one turn, it’d be easy to find his way back.

“Get it together,” he muttered, resolutely squaring his shoulders. “She needs you.”

“ _Arrrrthuuuuuuur.”_

His name echoed down the tunnel to him. Arthur froze. His heart pounded frantically against his ribs.

“Elena?”

The shadows beyond his light crept closer, the flame flickering.

“ _Elena?”_ his own voice echoed back to him. “ _Elena! Where…you?”_

Arthur’s back prickled with a cold sweat. He backed up, keeping the light in front of him like a shield.

_No._

It hadn’t been Elena.

It had been a trap.

“ _Arrrrthuuuuuuur,”_ the voice whispered, closer.

He couldn’t smell it, couldn’t hear it. His back hit the rock wall, the dead end. His breath was coming in panicked short bursts.

 _Not enough air,_ he thought wildly, staring at the darkness beyond. Had it moved? _Keep breathing. You’re alright. You’ll be alright. You got a light. Don’t panic._

Something tittered beyond the orange glow. A puff of air, and Arthur’s lamp went out.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gore warning ehehehe.

* * *

The mood at camp was grim. Sadie kept her head down, carefully oiling her rifle over her knees by the fire. The new camp at the plantation house weren’t bad, but everyone was rattled by the Pinkerton detectives waltzing into their old camp, making their demands. Was nice to have walls and a roof, but the swamp was humid, the water of the river more sludge than water, and crocs always a danger.

It weren’t exactly _home._ Whatever that meant these days.

Micah and Dutch were talking in low voices by the horses, as always Molly brooding by the broken down pavilion and glaring at anyone who happened by. Sadie watched them all from under the brim of her hat, head tilted low so they wouldn’t sense her gaze.

Sadie still considered herself something of an outsider most of the time, but she did better with the other women than Molly. Girl was too high strung and high born to try and be friendly, though Lord knew Sadie understood. She’d never been good at forming friendships, not like her Jake. He’d been the personable one, who could make a friend outta anyone. Sadie were more like an angry barn cat, more prone to hissing and scratching then sidling up for a pet.

They’d barely been able to mourn Sean’s death before Jack was gone- taken by the Braithwaites and now somewhere in Saint Denis. It was hard to keep track of who they’d riled up most lately, everyone had schemes and plans that Sadie had no hope of keeping track of. She did her own thing, pulled her own weight as she’d always done.

Abigail barely spoke to anyone, just John and Dutch, demanding they get her boy back. Sadie had tried to comfort her but didn’t know what to say, had quietly slipped away from the women when they gathered around her with soothing noises and comforting hugs.

Dutch was…cracking. It was the best word she could think for it. Maybe ‘cause she hadn’t known him as long it was easier for her to see. He spoke about plans, and freedom and other pretty words, but they were just that- words. Words wouldn’t see the Pinkertons off, words wouldn’t get Jack back.

Words wouldn’t bring back the dead.

And, worst of all, words wouldn’t get Arthur back.

Sadie frowned, rubbing the barrel a mite too hard. Weren’t unusual for him to be gone weeks at a time, but she just _knew._ It was clear as day looking at him, that Arthur weren’t right. Lord, his face when she’d spoken about O’Driscolls…it made her heart ache. That those bastards had done another person wrong.

She’d tried to convince Dutch to send someone out after him. Considering all the trouble they’d had, they needed Arthur, weren’t no-one who could match his gun and he’d been the protector of the gang as long as she knew him. He was family. He should be with them.

But Dutch wouldn’t. Just like when Arthur was taken, Dutch wouldn’t _do_ anything. That damn Micah whispering in his ear had something to do with it she’d wager. Made her blood boil, but she knew it weren’t her place to say it. Hosea had been apologetic, saying something along the lines that Arthur was strong and mean enough to look after himself. Weren’t the _point_ , a man could be strong as a mountain, but he still needed family. The shit he’d been through, weren’t right for him to be on his own. The mind could play tricks, make it seem like no-one cared. Might do something he regretted. Might hurt himself.

She’d thought about it. Could admit that now. When everything of her life was just ash, the only man she’d ever loved in the cold ground. Be easier to end it all. No suffering. No pain. She couldn’t stand the thought of Arthur thinking the same. He was a good man, despite the life he led. He’d been kind to her, treated her as an equal. He was a _friend._

“Deep thoughts?” Charles’ low rumble startled her. Sadie glanced at him, pausing her cleaning.

“Hi Charles. I…yeah. I guess.”

He nodded, settling down beside her on a beaten up stool. She hadn’t interacted much with Charles, but if she had to pick men in the camp who shared her thoughts on Arthur, he’d be one. He was no- nonsense. Dependable.

“It’s been a tough few days,” Charles said. Weren’t usually much for talk. “A lot has happened.”

Sadie chuckled weakly. “You could say that. I was thinkin’…’bout Arthur.”

Charles nodded, staring into the flames intently. “You think someone should go after him. Bring him back.”

“Yeah.” Sadie shifted her legs, stretching them with a wince. She’d not realized how long she’d been sat there, thinking. “If Dutch goes after that Saint Denis fella for Jack, we’ll need him. But more than that, I’m worried, Charles.”

“About Arthur?” Charles shook his head with a fond smile. “He’ll be fine. He’s a survivor. He’s probably wrapped up in some job or another and will come find us soon.”

“You believe that? After Colm?”

Charles fell silent. Someone was singing drunkenly in the house, an old favorite of Sean’s. Karen hadn’t stopped drinking since Micah and Bill came back with the news, could be her. They’d been sweet on each other, Sadie thought. Wasn’t sure.

“I think everyone’s so convinced Arthur’s this big, strong, _mean_ man, that they’ve forgotten he’s just that in the end. A man.” She tapped her rifle nervously. “Who was abandoned by his family when he needed ‘em the most.”

Charles’ gaze snapped to her. Usually so steady and calm, there was anger burning in his eyes. “We didn’t _abandon_ him.”

“But we did,” Sadie shot back, meeting his fire with her own. “We left him. Dutch said he’d be fine, and we believed it, didn’t we? And he came back half dead.”

“But he came back,” Charles argued. “He always does.”

“Charles,” Sadie said, exasperated. “You ‘aint a stupid man. Outta this bunch o’ bastards, you’re probably one o’ the smartest. They hurt him. They hurt him _bad_.”

Charles leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a muscle in his jaw spasming. “What you saying, Sadie?”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I just…I dunno. We need him, I know we do. But I don’t wanna bring him back just because o’ that. I…I’m gonna go after him. Make sure he’s alright. See if…see if he _wants_ to come back.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The swamp was alive around them with sound, insects in full chorus, a croc down the river bellowing. Uncle wobbled down the front steps of the house, nearly falling over face first and only saved by a surprisingly sober Reverend grabbing him roughly.

She didn’t have to say it. Charles could see the cracks forming in the gang as well as she could. The divide that was only growing larger with Arthur’s absence.

Finally, Charles nodded. “Alright. I’m coming with you. We could use a third gun though. With the Pinkertons sniffing around, we can’t be too careful.”

“Lenny?” Sadie suggested.

“I was thinking John.”

Sadie didn’t hide her surprise very well. “John? That wise? He ‘aint firin’ on all barrels on account of his little boy bein’ missin’.”

“I think that’s exactly why we should bring him,” Charles said. “He needs distraction, and if there’s anyone who will get a reaction outta Arthur, it would be Marsten.”

“Alright,” Sadie hefted her rifle, setting it beside her. “That’s settled then. We’ll head out in the mornin’.”

“You don’t think we should say anything to Dutch?”

Sadie glanced back over to where Dutch and Micah were talking, heads together. Planning something. Something they wouldn’t be privy to. “No. Tell Hosea, but leave it there. We’ll slip out quiet, and come back quiet.”

* * *

Elena listened intently, but she couldn't hear whatever had set her off. It had sounded like a distant shout, but she couldn't be sure.

She’d gone further than she meant to.

Elena sniffed, scuffing the loose dirt with her boot, listening to the forest. After she’d found a decent spot to do her business, she’d noticed she could hear the sounds of animals again, just down the trail. A short walk and it was like there was an invisible border- one side, dead silent. The other, normal forest.

_A territory boundary._

Elena frowned. She knew Wendigo’s could choose a nest, but they were more random killers than intelligent predators. Solitary. Or at least that’s what she’d been taught. Why would it stake out a territory?

She’d thought this would be a simple hunt and kill. She’d gotten the tip off about a Wendigo running wild before she’d even left her pack’s territory. Someone Anton knew had mentioned it in passing and she’d been eager to leave, to go off and prove herself. Life in the pack was good, but since they’d settled down outside Hennigan’s Stead, Elena had been restless. Anton was working alongside the local Sheriff keeping the locals safe from gangs- since a big shoot out over in Blackwater, ranchers were more willing to hire guns to keep their livelihoods safe.

The moment someone mentioned a hunt, she was already packed and ready to go. Anton hadn’t been keen to see her go, warning her about the dangers out in the world. Were-killers. Gangs. She was a woman travelling alone, and that came with other dangers.

She’d laughed. The call of adventure was too loud not to answer but now…now unease was prickling up her spine and she couldn’t help but think that perhaps she’d bitten off more than she could swallow.

_Seventeen bodies,_ Arthur had said. What did one Wendigo do with seventeen bodies?

Unless…

Elena thought back to the bodies they’d found. The photograph. A man and boy as well as the woman and girl. Where were their bodies? 

“Down the mines, probably,” Elena muttered, picking her way back towards the buildings. “That’s all.”

How many men had there been to work those mines? She could sense it, though she didn’t want to. Sense the old fear and sickness permeating the very wood of the buildings. The whole village had been starving. The whole village had been sick. How many people would there have been? Twenty? Thirty?

If one ate, the others did too.

Heart pounding that much harder, Elena broke into a jog, pushing branches out of her way. She'd gone too far, had moved out of range if anything happened. Evening was settling in fast, they’d need to barricade the building with the horses, settle in for the night. It hadn’t been the best idea to stop here if she was right. If, there were…

_Several Wendigos. A pack of them. Enough to eat seventeen bodies._

The buildings seemed to watch her as she hurried back, and relief made her belly hot as she smelled the horses and the hint of Arthur. He reminded her of the scent of pine wood, a crisp scent she could pick out easily. Whenever she said his name it turned warm, like sunbaked trees in the forest and she couldn’t get enough of the smell.

“Arthur, we need to move,” she said, stomping into the building, breathless. “I think there’s more…than…”

She trailed off. Valkyrie and Ghost looked back at her, hopeful for more treats. Arthur wasn’t there.

Fear doused over her, like a bucket of cold water. It gripped her so immediately it left her gasping for a breath, took her a moment to wrestle herself back under control.

She knew. She couldn’t say how, or why she knew, but she did.

They’d gotten Arthur.

Elena stood for a moment in the doorway, fingers flexing on the pistol at her hip as she weighed her options. Take the horses and run, leave Arthur to his fate. She’d live to see another day, regroup, maybe come back with more men and flush them all out proper.

But she couldn’t. The thought of leaving him to whatever hell awaiting down those mine shafts…she wouldn’t.

_I just…don’t do well in places like that._

The smell of his fear, bitter on her tongue. Elena shucked off her rifle, letting it clatter to the floor.

_You…uh…need an escort?_

The hopeful tone in his voice, too used to being shut down, turned away. She meant it, she liked his company.

The wolf inside her curled its lip. _He’s **ours.**_

She wouldn’t let some half dead Wendigo bastards have him.

Elena tossed her hat aside, fishing twine out of her pocket to tie her hair back from her face. Her gun belt went next, clattering next to the rifle. She needed to move silently, any jingling metal would give her away. She kept her knife, cinching the leather strap more firmly around her thigh.

Elena hesitated for a moment, then with a growl, tugged her boots off. She’d move quicker without them, and more silently. Down to just her shirt and jeans, barefoot and a knife strapped to her thigh, it would have to do.

“Ghost, I need to you to guard Valkryie,” Elena ordered, dragging one of the old tables closer to the door. “You got it? Look after each other. I’ll be back with Arthur.”

Ghost snorted at her as usual. Stepping outside, Elena shut the door, piling a few broken crates and broken planks in front of it. Wouldn’t stop a determined Wendigo, but better than nothing. The grass was cold against the soles of her feet, and Elena tried to calm her racing heart as she approached the cave entrance. She could smell Arthur here, the lamp she’d fiddled with earlier was gone.

“Oh Arthur,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She should have stayed. Should have paid more attention. Before she could lose her nerve, Elena took a deep breath, ducking into the darkness.

* * *

Elena moved quickly, shifting her eyes just enough so that the pitch black of the mine was more grey, enough that she could see the floor in front of her, the stone walls. It was strange to move on human feet when she could feel the urgency, the danger, but she needed the human side more. If there was a pack, she’d need to outsmart them, she couldn’t hope to overpower them. She came to a fork in the path, darting down the left to follow the stronger scent. It was a dead end, but she found a smashed lamp, as well as-

“Arthur’s satchel,” Elena breathed out into the dark, stooping to grab it. She hadn’t seen him go without it very often. There’d been a scuffle here, enough to drag the strap off his shoulders. Elena shook the bag slightly, but it didn’t jingle. She looped it over her head and onto her own shoulder, tucking it securely against her hip.

Something scraped against rock further up the path, towards the fork she had gone down. Elena froze, straining to listen. It was so _dark._

_Don’t panic,_ she told herself, concentrating on evening out her breathing.

“ _Arthur,”_ a voice called, and it took Elena a second to realize it was her own. “ _Arthuuur.”_

Another movement.

“ _Elena!”_ it said, and she could hear breathless huffing, a mockery of a laugh. “ _Elena!”_

Arthur’s voice. But not him. A ploy to draw them in.

_You bastard._ It must have pulled him in pretending to be her.

Elena moved quickly on the balls of her feet, pressing herself close to the rock wall, eyes straining to spot movement. She just had to remember her training. Stay calm. Wendigos were fast, but she was faster. They were strong, but their skin was weak.

She gripped the hilt of her knife, squeezing the wood tight.

A long clawed arm emerged from the darkness, skeletal like fingers spread out on the rocky floor as the Wendigo pulled it’s way into view. It was too tall to walk down the mine shafts on two legs, so instead stalked on all fours, overlong limbs ghoulish and gait unnatural. She could see it’s eyes glowing in the darkness, white and dead. It would see better in the dark than her, Wendigos were sight hunters, but they couldn’t smell or hear very well. It smelled...cold. Hungry. Faint decay and blood, and the dusty smell of old bones left in the dark for too long.

Elena’s teeth sharpened, her jaw unhinging in preparation. Her fingers were sweaty on the knife hilt.

The Wendigo paused, head swaying as it looked for her. The face was the worst, skin pulled tight over a deformed skull, chipped fangs jutting out from a too-small jaw. Paper-thin skin scraped over its ribs, hipbones rubbed raw, blackened flesh underneath. It hadn't seen her, wouldn't unless she moved, but it was close. Too close.

“ _Elena,”_ it hissed in Arthur’s desperate voice, and her wolf snapped and snarled inside, furious that it _dared._ Elena stayed still, waiting. It moved closer, claws tapping on rock.

She just needed to get the right angle. She could sink her knife into it’s skull, it’s neck, make sure it didn’t call out to the rest-

A high pitched yip drew her attention. A smaller shape followed, emerging from the shadows and hurrying up to the Wendigo.

Elena’s heart sank. _No._

So much smaller, but the same dead eyes, the same narrow chest with heaving ribs sliding beneath pallid skin. Tiny bony hands gripping onto the older Wendigo, lop-sided jaw flapping as it chittered in excited chirps and trills.

_The boy._

A child. Or what had been.

The adult Wendigo growled, swatting at the child, but it avoided the swipe, darting away and still chattering. Concentration broken, the Wendigo grumbled, turning around to move back away up the tunnel.

Elena tried to narrow her focus, to pick up on what they were communicating. Disjointed thoughts, and the feeling of _hunger_ hit her so hard she nearly doubled over.

_Food._

The child skittered after the adult, and carefully, Elena followed, wary where she stepped as to avoid alerting them. Her feet were freezing, cold and numb and she shifted enough to make the soles of her feet thicker, more adapted to the chill and rock.

They moved back past the fork, following the right path instead. Elena paused briefly, touching the rock wall and steadying herself. The air as she followed the path down was old, stale. The deeper they went the cooler it got, and Elena kept her distance, careful to watch her steps. There were old structures here, rotten wood and crates left by the miners. Twisted rusted metal that may have been tools once. A few lengths of rope and old lanterns. And…

_Bones._

Ribs, legs, skulls. Animal and human alike, decades worth of hunting. Cracked jagged edges she had to avoid, stepping around them.

The child stopped at a few, gnawing at a leg bone in play. Elena could hear the sharp teeth grinding on bone, and thought of the bodies left in the cabin.

The adult sank back on its elongated legs, snuffling the air. Elena paused as well, holding her breath in the shadows as it seemed to search for something. Tilting it’s head back it _screeched,_ the sound ricocheting off of the walls around them and rattling in her skull. Elena nearly cried out, clapping her hands to head to try and block out the sound scratching in her ears.

Deep in the depths beyond them, a similar call echoed, followed by more. And _more,_ until the tunnel was alive with the sound, the screaming yearning and hollow. Elena gritted her teeth, fingers hooked around her ears, nails digging into skin hard enough to leave marks.

Abruptly, it stopped. Another voice rose down the tunnel, hoarse and panicked. It didn’t form words, but she recognized it, even as it twisted into something pained.

Arthur.

The sound excited the Wendigos, and the adult took off down the tunnel, stretching it’s long limbs into an easy run. The child was slower to react, glancing up with a bone between it’s teeth, fuzzy to Elena’s eyes in the dark.

She couldn’t afford mercy. Many animals killed to live, but Wendigos were different. Walking curses wrought upon humans who may or may not have deserved it. This same child had turned on it’s mother, ripped her throat out in front of her horrified eyes and not thought about the rights or wrongs of it.

Neither would she.

By the time the Wendigo spat the bone out between it’s blackened lips, Elena had already crept up from behind. It’s skin was cold under her fingers as she grabbed it, knife flashing in the shadows and slicing easily into it’s throat. She could feel congealed blood drip down her palms, but it didn’t make a sound as she sawed quickly, tugging on the blade until it was free, a gentle thud in the black as the Wendigo’s head fell to the ground, mouth gaping silently.

Elena breathed into the silence, waiting. A questioning growl up ahead, and she shoved the now dead body away from her, the body falling with a squelch. The adult came back into view, and she didn’t think on it, simply descended on it from the shadows with a snarl.

Again her blade flashed, and the Wendigo, too surprised to block it, grunted as the blade slid easily into the side of its neck. Using her momentum to slide underneath it, Elena shoved her weight on the knife, splitting the skin in one smooth glide. A splatter of blood against rock, and she twisted, stabbing the knife again into it’s head, metal sinking easily into the soft pulp of one dead eye.

Her first slice had muted it, flaying open the throat and it gurgled uselessly, hands clawing for her. One curved talon caught her on the shoulder, slicing through the thin cotton of her shirt and drawing a line of blood underneath. With a growl, Elena pulled her knife back, the eye collapsing in on itself as she did. Ignoring the gush of blood and fluid, Elena hooked her fingers of her other hand into its ruined eye, nails elongating and stabbing deeper.

“You took something of mine,” she whispered, fighting the urge to burrow her teeth in it’s ruined, spurting neck and just _tear._ It struggled feebly, bleeding out, and she stabbed the knife in again, up through the soft part of the throat into the jaw. “You took _Arthur.”_

She hissed, spitting the mockery of her voice back in it’s face. Pulling her hands apart in different directions, it’s head splintered in her grasp, peeling in two sections like an over ripe fruit. The tunnel filled with the stench of decay and organs, brain matter dripping down her arms. It's tongue, torn loose and flapping, slid against the back of her hand and disgusted, she dropped the body, the thud overly loud in the quiet. 

Elena breathed through her mouth, getting control over herself. Two down. Who knew how many left.

She wiped her knife on her thigh, stepping over the body. Her feet stepped in blood, thick and sticking. She ignored it, padding further into the dark tunnel, eyes glowing.

_I’m coming, Arthur._

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

It were like trying to ride a storm.

The darkness he had once thought something the O’Driscolls put in him, was _alive._ He could feel it settled under his skin, curled behind his eyes. Elena said the change was like a coat, eventually he might be able to pull it on and off as he pleased, but it felt more like drowning, like lightening and thunder in his chest. Scalding water filling his lungs as he gasped for air, electricity sizzling down his nerves.

The wolf in him _hated._

When the first Wendigo hit him, Arthur didn’t have time to reach for his gun. They had gone sprawling in a mess of limbs that sent his bag and weapon flying, pain exploding across his back as he was shoved against hard rock. The lamp shattered, and everything just went upside down, the wolf within him roaring to the forefront and shoving Arthur aside.

Before, he’d allowed it. When he didn’t understand what was happening, Arthur slipped into blissful unconsciousness and just let it. Were easier.

But this time, Arthur held on. It weren’t much, a sliver of consciousness that was more pain than it were worth, but he could still _feel_ , still sorta understand what was happening. He hadn’t shifted all the way. Still human, but his hands had hooked into claws that scrabbled the rock floor as he was _dragged,_ snapping and spitting down the tunnel. He couldn’t see much, just shades of grey and blurry shapes, long and skeletal that flit around him. Two? Three? He couldn’t tell.

One passed too close and he got a hold of it, practically rabid and struggling. He had an arm in his mouth, and he worried at it, teeth digging deep, tearing weak muscle and ligaments. Putrid blood filled his mouth and he gagged, pulling away to spit. The Wendigo he’d bitten slammed him up against the wall again, Arthur’s head bouncing off the rock and everything tilted back into shadows, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Sharp pins in his calf, and he was dragged forcibly along, back scraping along the floor. Arthur struggled to regain control, to keep his senses. Felt like he were far away, everything muffled.

 _I missed you, boy,_ the darkness sighed, and the wolf struggled harder, fur sprouting along Arthur’s arms.

“Fuck off Colm,” Arthur barked into the shadows, his voice warbled and strange as his vocal chords shifted and twanged. He tried to stop the momentum of his body, claws screeching on rock, but he was just pulled harder, the pain in his leg hotter.

Colm laughed.

_That ‘aint no way to greet an old friend, Morgan. After all we been through?_

A hand touched Arthur’s chest, a thumb brushing the hollow of his throat, and Arthur twisted wildly, fear rising hot and fast. Something slapped him hard, the blow stinging across his cheek and left eye. The darkness burst with dots of light.

_‘Aint I been good to you, boy?_

“You’re dead,” Arthur said groggily. “I ripped your heart out with my fuckin’ teeth.”

_Did you?_

He was thrown, limbs flopping as he rolled. The walls had widened, the tunnel spilling into a cavern, the air stale but not so close. Arthur grunted, rolling to his knees, sharp things digging into his skin and palms as he steadied himself. A few cracked, like twigs snapping in the forest. He cast around, teeth bared as he stared out into the dark, fingers closing around something long and smooth. Holding it like a club, he faced the dark, panting. His leg hurt to put weight on it, his jeans wet and warm below the knee.

_You’re bleedin’, boy._

“Shut up!”

Something skittered in front of him. The wolf zeroed in on it, wanted to lunge forward and _attack,_ but Arthur held his ground, trying to blink the sweat and dust out of his eyes.

_You’re still in that cell, aren’t you boy? Still just a toy._

A rush of air to his right, and sharp teeth sank into his bicep, muscle tearing. Arthur hollered, beating at the space with his makeshift weapon but hitting only air. There was laughter all around him now, echoing in the cavern.

“ _Arthur!”_ Elena’s voice mocked him. “ _Arthuurr.”_

 _She wanted you to die,_ Colm crowed. _Used you as bait._

“She wouldn’t,” Arthur shot back, turning in a slow circle. His legs trembled, hands shaking as he held the club out in front of him. It weren’t real. Colm were long dead. Weren’t real.

_No-one’s comin’, Morgan. They never do._

The laughter turned to screams, all around him. The sound rattled in his brain, and he hollered with it, swiping at the shadows wildly. Abruptly there was a shuffle of movement on stone behind him, and he turned too fast, twisting. Felt his injured leg give out, knee collapsing like it was made out of paper. He crumpled in the darkness with a shout, and he could feel them now, yearning hands grabbing at his arms, his legs. Claws hooked into his skin, slicing like knives. Pinpricks of cold heat, hungry mouths in the dark sinking teeth into whatever part of Arthur they could find. The warm coppery smell of his own blood curled in his nose, splashing against the dusty rock floor.

_You ‘aint worth savin’._

He was sinking further and further, slipping away. Hands, hands rising to meet him, to welcome him back as they split his skin, exposing muscle and bone. The further he sank the less pain he could feel, made sense to just relax into it, the void. Images flashing by him too quick to concentrate on. Dutch. Hosea. Faces of those he called family. Colm. Mary. Strangers he couldn’t remember the names of, but people he’d helped. People he’d killed.

Elena’s slow smile that made her eyes light up like sweet honey.

 ** _Silence._** Another voice, one louder than Colm’s, bristling and furious, crowding the dead man back into the abyss of Arthur’s mind. Colm cowered before it, before the rage and fury that had torn him into pieces. Arthur could remember the last spasms of Colm’s heart on his tongue, the squish between his teeth as he bit down. He’d done that. He’d killed him, Colm wasn’t there. Colm couldn’t hurt him. Not anymore.

 ** _You live._** The voice said bluntly. _He_ said. ** _WE live._**

Arthur struggled, limbs stuck like molasses. _Why? It hurts._

The wolf clamped around him, dragging him up, up towards the pain, and the blood and suffering.

**_Life hurts. We survive._ **

Arthur screamed, throat warping and deepening. There were Wendigos all over him, burrowing their teeth into his arms, his thighs, his legs. Their talons split the skin at his back, scraped down his ribs. Two were tussling between themselves, snapping at one another as the others tried to eat him alive.

Arthur heaved to his feet in a surge of adrenaline, jaw snapping and cracking as the change took over, muscles thickening in his neck and head to support the larger jaws, the fangs that replaced his flat teeth. A smaller creature had been gnawing on his collarbone, and Arthur fell on it, jaws clamping around it’s fragile head and _crunching._

The skull burst in his mouth, blood and bone coating his tongue. A wail went up from them then, and several fell away from him, their pale faces stained black in the gloom.

He snarled, body still mostly human, but changing muscles trying to fill the bloody holes they’d eaten out of him.

**_They are weak._ **

The wolf was him, and he was the wolf.

**_I am not._ **

Pairs of white eyes peered back at him, and he could hear them hissing, several circling around him. It were bones, he could see now. Bones of all shapes and sizes littered the cavern floor, he’d been using what looked like a deer leg bone as his weapon. He weren’t in much shape to fight, but they’d clearly thought him easier prey than he was proving to be.

“Come on then!” he snarled. “Fight me ya cowards!”

One was bigger than the others. Looming unnaturally tall on two legs, it shoved the others aside, and Arthur could just about see marks on it, scabbing wounds down its shoulder and sides. Bites.

Arthur grinned. “We meet again. You tried to eat my horse.”

The Wendigo’s mouth yawned in a scream, vibrating the air between them. Rotten breath made his stomach turn, the smell of death. It drew back a long arm, claws hooked.

A howl cut through the dark, rising above the Wendigos, drowning out their mocking sounds and clattering bones.

 _I’m here,_ it called, the sound so beautiful Arthur found his own voice whining, wanting to join it in song.

_I’m here._

Light exploded in the dark, glass shattering. Screaming, the Wendigos darted away, towards the safer shadows as a flame licked up towards the cavern ceiling, illuminating the ghastly nest in an orange glow. An overturned rusted cart, bones, a mummified corpse he didn’t look to closely at. The Wendigos must have been in the nest for years, if the sheer amount of remains was anything to go by.

A second explosion followed the first, forcing the Wendigos further away from Arthur. _Fire bottles._

The alcohol leaked out the shattered glass pieces, flames licking across the liquid and splattered bones. Arthur squinted, eyes slowly adjusting and recognized the figure that ducked past the wooden beam propping the tunnel entrance up, darting towards him.

_Elena._

She grabbed him by the arm, none too gently pulling him after her. Tendrils of dark hair were sticking to her forehead, her amber eyes glowing in the firelight. Arthur stumbled, legs weak and bleeding, and she slid his arm over her shoulders, leaning him on her as she moved them both back towards the tunnel.

“Sorry to interrupt your little playtime,” she panted, half dragging, half carrying him. “But I’ve had enough of tunnels and fucking _Wendigos.”_

A _boom_ echoed behind them, the floor shivering. The Wendigos were screaming, screeches that seemed to make the very walls shake, rocks shifting loose and dust shaking down on them as they stumbled down the tunnel.

“The hell was that?” Arthur asked, grinding his teeth at the pain radiating up his legs and arms.

Elena huffed a laugh, still hustling them. They trampled through something that squelched underfoot and Arthur nearly slipped, thudding against the wall with a pained grunt. She pulled him back against her, fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans as if she could just pick him up the whole way.

“You were holding out on me,” she bumped something against his hip. “Found your satchel. Is there a reason you carry dynamite around?”

A second _whump_ nearly sent them both flying. The tunnel was definitely unstable now, rocks tumbling down from the ceiling.

“Remember when I said you were crazy?” Arthur groaned, hobbling as quickly as he could. He could smell fresher air up ahead. “Weren’t right. You’re _insane._ ”

“You’re welcome!”

It weren’t far now, there was track again underfoot, metal that his boots slipped on, the promise of freedom so close he could taste it.

Elena yelped, disappearing from his side. The walls were rumbling, shaking loose, the wooden braces too old and rotten to support the unstable rock.

Arthur turned, reaching for her.

The scarred Wendigo reared up, lanky body filling the tunnel. Elena twisted in its grasp, it’s long claws embedded in her shoulder. Arthur snarled as the smell of her blood filled the tunnel, metallic and sweet. Elena bit off a curse, her human face exploding out in a spray of fur, bone crunching into a muzzle and teeth, biting down hard on the fingers holding her. Arthur heard the bones snap, the Wendigo yowling and backhanding her. Her head snapped back, and Arthur saw red.

His hands were around it’s throat before he could blink, crushing it’s windpipe and digging his thumbs into flesh that gave way under his nails. Elena was beside him, half wolf, half human and using Arthur to push up on, she lunged, jaws snapping. Her jaw didn’t stretch quite wide enough, catching the Wendigo on the side of the face, fangs peeling flesh from yellowed bone. Arthur felt it gurgle against his fingers, and he was changing as well, face rippling. His teeth slid into it’s cheek like a knife through butter, his nose butting up against Elena’s. She was straining, tugging her head back and forth like a dog with a rawhide, and Arthur copied her, burrowing his way down it’s jaw and towards the Wendigo's softer throat. It tasted vile, but he persevered, trying not to swallow anything.

The tunnel was collapsing around them as they tore and rent, Arthur letting go with his hands only to replace it with his teeth. Elena pulled, Arthur pushed, and with a sickening crack, they split the skull from lower jaw, the upper skull falling away.

Elena grabbed it, face shifting back to human. Blood was smeared across her chin and up her cheek. With the tunnel rapidly collapsing, she hauled Arthur back against her, together hobbling out and into the crisp evening air, a plume of dust exploding around them as the tunnel collapsed completely.

Arthur coughed and hacked, trying to clear the dust out of his eyes. “Elena!”

“I’m here,” she coughed as well, waving her hand in front of her face to try and clear the air. “I’m alright.”

Arthur collapsed, legs giving out. Alarmed, Elena reached for him, bloody palms smearing against his shirt. He folded his hand around hers, squeezing.

“M alright. You came.”

“Of course I did. I meant it when I said I liked having you around.”

She touched his cheek, and he leaned into it still squeezing her other hand, breathing out and shutting his eyes. Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, against his prickling beard, probably smearing more blood around but he didn’t care. She was there. She’d come.

A shift of air, and there was a gentle press against his lips, a chaste kiss he half thought he’d imagined. He opened his eyes and she was right there, nose almost touching his. They were both filthy, covered in blood and dust. Arthur had chunks ripped out of him, she was bleeding from the shoulder.

But it felt right.

With shaking fingers, Arthur slid his hand into her hair, leaning forward to kiss her properly, cover her bloody lips with his and chase away the taste of Wendigo.

* * *

It had been a stroke of luck, finding the small storeroom off the main tunnel. Crates of old ore and canned produce. There were meat hooks as well, no doubt the villagers had used it as cold storage at one point, but Elena didn't examine it too closely. Because one of the crates clinked with glass, moonshine brought up from the Lemoyne. Strong stuff. Elena had found two still intact bottles sloshing with liquid, and ripped strips off her shirt to act as tinder. She’d been surprised to find a few sticks of dynamite in Arthur’s satchel, but it was lucky she did- fishing matches out of one of the pockets, it was enough to be able to create a diversion and then bring the cave down on the bastards. Maybe it wouldn’t kill them, maybe it would.

She’d been poised at the mouth of the cavern, bottles in her shaking hands as she’d had to watch. Watch as the Wendigos fell on Arthur, tearing chunks from his legs and arms. His hoarse cries of pain, limbs jerking in agony. It’d taken all her self-control to not just run in there and start biting herself, tear them to pieces. It would have been suicide against the pack.

But Arthur had surprised her again. He’d gotten to his feet, bloody and beaten, but not broken. Given her time to place the dynamite, to light the fuses and send the fire bottles crashing amongst them, away from him.

They’d escaped, hell, they even had a Wendigo head as a prize, so all wasn’t lost on getting paid. The tunnel was sealed, there’d be no more victims. It felt too good to be true.

Arthur was _alive_. She’d been so relieved, proud he’d been so strong, that he’d faced them down. She’d seen born Weres flee at less, and he’d been able to control himself, use the wolf within. Kissing him felt natural, this feral she found in the wilderness. _Hers._ His shuddering sigh as he kissed her back, fingers threading through her hair like a man touch-starved, and Lord, she’d never wanted a man so much. She'd fooled around with men in the past, Were and human alike, but Arthur, he made her ache.

The shy smile he'd give her when he thought she wasn't looking. That time he came back smelling like languid self pleasure...the wolf inside her had been ready to just bend over the nearest surface and submit. It wanted to mark him and make him _hers._ She'd howled to him, down in the dark tunnels. Howled for her pack and he'd tried to join her, his broken whine more than she could bear.

But neither of them were in any shape for such things, and there was much still Arthur didn't know about Weres. Elena reigned in her wolf, and got a blushing Arthur back to the main building where the horses waited. He’d heal, but he needed food and rest. She found a lamp in the pantry, set it beside them with it's tiny sputtering light.

“We’ll ride out at daybreak,” she said, wincing sympathetically as she bandaged a nasty bite on Arthur’s calf. She’d wrestled him out of his jeans with only weak protests, using a spare shirt torn into strips to bind the worst wounds. “Make our way to Valentine where we can get some proper food and a bath. Lord knows what infections those bastards could carry.”

Arthur nodded but he was just staring at her lips like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Elena tapped his knee with her finger. “Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

Again he blushed, red flushing his bruised face. “I..uh…’pologies.”

“Are you upset I kissed you?”

“Upset?” he scoffed. “Hell no. Just…surprised.”

She sniffed him subtly. No lie. “Why?”

“I…ladies don’t…” he shrugged awkwardly. “I ‘aint much o’ a catch.”

She stared at him. Had the Wendigos’ hit his head too hard? He avoided her gaze, picking at the bandage she’d just wrapped. He was sat propped up against Valkyrie’s bulk, the horse snoozing, her head draped over Ghost’s back.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she declared. “Those ladies must be blind.”

He laughed, wincing as it jostled bruises. “Kind o’ you to say.”

“It’s the truth,” she continued as his scent curled around her pleased, warm and soft, getting stronger as she spoke. “You’re a hell of a man, Arthur. I’ve not met someone quite like you.”

“You’ve known me all of a week and I’ve spent most of it injured, with you savin’ my ass. _Twice._ ”

“Well. I couldn’t let such a fine ass go to waste,” she teased, and Arthur spluttered, disturbing the horses. Ghost huffed, irritated. Arthur ducked his face, hiding a smile.

“And I know for damn sure I ‘aint met someone quite like you. You’re a hell of a woman.”

“Then we’re quite the hellish pair.” She dug around in their packs, flourished high a bottle of whiskey. “I say we toast to our mutual hellishness.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Whiskey always burned, but Elena swigged it down, eyes watering and passed the bottle to Arthur. She watched him drink, the horses noisily sighing and resettling.

“In the cavern,” she ventured. “I heard you say a name. Before. Like…you were talking to someone. Do you…do you mind if I ask about it?”

His scent turned bitter. She knew there was something he hid, something he muttered about in his sleep. It weighed on him, put him at odds with the wolf. Everyone had dark secrets, but she wanted to know his, wanted to know _him._

Arthur rolled the whiskey bottle between his hands. “It…it ‘aint a pretty tale.”

“I gathered.”

Arthur sighed, setting the bottle down. “I ‘aint told no-one 'bout it.”

“Alright.”

She expected him to stop there, close himself off. But he didn’t, and with a deep sigh, his voice a low rumble, he recounted an old gang feud between two leaders. A brother and lover dead. Years of fighting, of skirmishes, and shoot outs and an attempted parlay that was more a set up. Of beatings, and cruelty in the darkness of a cell. _Rape,_ though he didn’t say the word. It set her teeth on edge, made her want to rage and snarl for him, to seek out O’Driscolls and kill them all.

But it wasn’t her story. So Elena sat and listened, and Arthur spoke more, words tumbling out of him in a torrent that ebbed around her. The moment the wolf inside him finally awoke, furious and damning, ripping the O’Driscoll camp to shreds. His painful ride home, only to find his family didn’t recognize him anymore, didn’t know what to do. The sleepless nights. His journal.

Elena glanced at his satchel, discarded between them. She’d found pages in there, ripped and frayed. Beautiful drawings, elegant writings. Arthur could show the world in a way she never could, and her heart ached that his anger had destroyed it. He’d been through so much.

Finally, he was spent. He slumped against Valkyrie, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. At one point in the story, Elena had shifted closer, Arthur’s outstretched leg touching hers, and she nudged him gently.

“Those O’Driscolls. Colm.” She bared her teeth at the name, damning the bastard to hell. “Do you know where their bodies are?”

Arthur glanced at her. “Why you wanna know that?”

“I want to piss on them.”

Arthur laughed. He laughed and laughed until the laughs turned into choked off gasps, tears that had nothing to do with laughter trailing from the corners of his eyes.

Elena shifted close, wrapping her arms carefully around his bandaged ones. She curled as close as she could, tucking his wet face into the hollow of her throat.

Arthur hugged her back and cried.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear we'll get to more action soon but Arthur needed to work some stuff out poor man. :P

* * *

They were both battered and bruised as they packed up the horses, clothes torn and bloody with no spares to make presentable. Arthur limped, his knee still trying to set and lower leg so thick with makeshift bandages that he couldn’t get his boot back on. Looked like they’d been set upon on the road, and that was the story they’d tell when they got to town.

Elena got the Wendigo head wrapped up in some oilcloth, fixing it on her saddle. Arthur were worried it might rot, but she said the skull was the valuable bit anyways, and the cloth would keep it for now. She’d even found the few fingers she’d bitten off, discarded among the rocks where the entrance to the mine had been. Enough to get something off the Night Folk at least.

There hadn’t been any movement from the collapsed rock during the night, and they hadn’t been set upon by anything. If any of the Wendigos survived, they were trapped in the depths, and the depths could keep 'em.

In the cold light of day, away from the safety of night and the adrenaline of a fight, Arthur felt foolish.

Elena didn’t say nothing about the night before, and Arthur were grateful. Didn’t know what to say, couldn’t tell what she were thinking. Must have seemed a pathetic fool, sobbing like a babe. She’d had to save him twice now, he’d put her whole hunt in jeopardy. Wouldn’t blame her if she’d slipped away during the night, but she were still there when Arthur woke, offered him a tin cup hot with coffee that she’d cooked over a small fire outside.

She’d kissed him. Remembered _that_ and mulled it around his head as they plodded down the mountain, past the old ranch and out towards calmer forests and fields. ‘Course that was before he blurted out the whole sorry tale of O’Driscolls, and she hadn’t tried again. Probably disgusted, but too polite to say otherwise.

There was a light drizzle as they passed Wallace Station, but the clouds soon gave way to warmer sun, and Valkyrie tossed her head, relaxing the more they got into familiar territory.

Elena rode slightly ahead. She looked better than he did, but her shirt had torn in the shoulder, exposing skin that was still healing from the Wendigo’s claws. It set his teeth on edge every glance he got of it, remembering the smell of her blood in the tunnel.

“I can hear you brooding, you know,” she said over her shoulder. She pulled on Ghost’s reins, pulling him back so the horses fell into step beside each other.

They were back on a dirt path, the forest around them alive with bird calls. After the silence of the mountain and mine, everything was just too damn _noisy._ Rabbits munching in the undergrowth, squirrels chattering over their heads on branches and tree trunks.

“I ‘aint broodin’.”

“Thinking loudly then. Spit it out.”

Arthur’s gestured towards the forest. “Nature won’t shut the hell up! And everythin’ just… _smells._ ”

Again, that brilliant smile. “You learn to filter it out.”

There were scents everywhere, trying to sift through them all gave him a headache. “It always like this?”

“Give it time, you’re new at this. Try to focus on just one.”

He tried, picked the nicest scent. Sweet, like the chocolate bars Pearson sometimes got in and hid away. It tickled his nose, and he sniffed deeply, trying to figure out what animal it might be. A deer crashed through the undergrowth, the sound distracting, and he lost the trail of it, the smell just seeming to settle around him.

“Hellfire.” Arthur shifted, adjusting his aching body. “So what we doing when we hit Valentine lookin’ like this?”

“We’ll book a room at the hotel. Bathe, buy new clothes, get some hot food.”

“A room?” His pulse spiked a bit. “Together?”

Elena shot him a look. “We need clothes, food, and a safe place to rest. I need to send a letter on to my contact as well about the head. Unless you’re carrying a load of cash, after all that I’m pretty sure two rooms is a stretch.”

He didn’t know why that made him so nervous. “They won’t look kindly on a single woman beddin’ with a man like me.”

“Who says I’m single?”

The forest was starting to thin, giving way to grassier plains that was a sight for sore eyes. Arthur fidgeted with the reins. He hadn’t thought she might have a sweetheart or husband back home. Couldn’t say he’d ever let her out his sight, was she his.

_She ‘aint yours._

“You got a husband?” he asked carefully. Maybe the kiss were just…a glad to be livin’ sort o’ thing. Emotions getting the better of them both. Didn’t mean nothing.

Elena muttered something under her breath. “What name you go by in Valentine?”

“Callahan.”

“Well then.” She straightened in her saddle, chin tilted piously like the highborn ladies sauntering about in the city. “I’m _Mrs._ Callahan. We’re newlyweds, coming home from celebrating with our folks when we were set on, our wagon and valuables stolen and we barely got away with our lives.”

Oh.

A pleased warmth spread in his chest like wildfire. “Folks there don’t know you?”

“Passed through as a younger woman, but that were years ago. So, no.”

Well alright then. Arthur chuckled, tipping his hat to her. “Mrs. Callahan.”

She smiled, dipping her shoulders in a pretend curtsy. “Mr. Callahan.”

The sweet smell grew stronger. Arthur tried to pinpoint it, but it made his head fuzzy and warm. It settled around him, lush and tantalizing as they finally left the forest behind them, heading down into plains of grass, open and wide. A small herd of wild horses watched them pass, ears pricked, geese honking overhead.

“Tell me more about Weres then,” Arthur said. “I take it most folks don’t know about Wendigos and people turnin’ into wolves.”

Elena laughed. “You’d be right there. What people don’t understand, they hate. Too many of us have died thanks to revealing ourselves. Best to keep ourselves to ourselves.”

“But people must see shit,” the horses slowed to a walk. Ghost craned his head to grab at a few long stalks of grass as they passed by. “Jackalopes, right?”

“To most people, they’d just look like rabbits. Anton calls it ‘the Veil.’ A mirror between the supernatural and people, where unless they’re looking for it, and really _believe…_ they just won’t see it. Protects us.”

Made sense he supposed. He’d ridden all over the territory and couldn’t remember seeing much outta place. “I didn’t believe in Wendigos, but I sure as hell saw it.”

Elena pulled out a flask from her saddle. She offered to Arthur, their fingers brushing as he took it.

“You were a Were at that point. You’d transformed more than once already.” She watched him as he swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. “Part of the same world. To a human, it might have appeared to have been a mountain cat, or a very spry bear.”

“Hell of a bear.”

They could see a wagon rolling in the distance, plumes of dust kicking behind it. The clouds from before were long gone, the sun now hanging high in the sky and beating down on the two of them. Arthur could feel sweat drip down his spine, gathering at the waistband of his jeans.

“But we’re all the same in the end,” Elena continued, stroking Ghost’s neck and giving him a pat. A tuft of horse hair floated away on the breeze. “Just like people, Weres fight, we love, and we die. The only difference is the wolf.”

“And that’s a mighty difference.” Arthur frowned, thinking back to the wolf that must have turned him. He hadn’t thought much of it, killing those wolves. Their ribs had been so stark under their thin coats, eyes hunger bright in the dark. “The one that bit me then. The…feral. That were someone like you, once?”

“Probably. Used to be a relatively large pack living here in West Elizabeth. Once the oil magnates started moving in and buying up the land, all the hunting grounds were lost. Some of us just can’t adapt to a life in civilization, go mad instead. Maybe it was one of them.”

Reminded him of Dutch. Always talking about the great American dream and the evils of progress. That they could fight it, just had to try a bit harder, get another take. 

Could just be the world had outgrown old guns like them and their bloody ways.

“You ever fight humans with your pack?”

She was quiet a long moment. Arthur handed the flask back to her, and she stared at it, tracing the shape of it absently.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Anton does his best to avoid that life, but sometimes it can’t be helped. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve killed.”

She looked at him then, expression serious. “I don’t take pleasure in it. If I have to kill a man, then there’s no other choice. We’re powerful as Weres, Arthur. That doesn’t give us the right to use that power to cause suffering.”

“All Weres think that way?”

“No. Like I said, we’re just like people. There are good ones, and bad ones.”

He was recognizing the land now, the farmland and isolated ranches settled on the outskirts of Valentine. A livestock town, it was small and probably more rough around the edges than it should be, but Arthur liked it. Could see himself getting comfortable in a place like it, had his life gone a better way.

“You ever wanted to settle down?” Elena asked. “Leave the gang and just try a quieter life?”

“’Course. Nearly did, once.”

“But?”

Arthur sighed. “I…there was a woman. Wanted me to be somethin’ different. Act like someone I weren’t. And I wanted to but, I just couldn’t get it right. Kept messin’ it all up like I do. In the end, ‘spose I couldn’t leave Dutch like that, I owe him everythin’.”

“And the woman?”

“Left.”

Valentine crested on the horizon in the distance. Arthur could see the movement of wagons and horses, already smell the livestock. Could hear the sheep bleating in the pens and cows shifting their bulk around the corrals.

Elena breathed deep, clicking her tongue at Ghost to step up a pace. “Dutch must be quite a man to inspire that kind of loyalty.”

“He is.”

_Was._

A passing farmer on his Morgan stared at them as he passed, urging his horse into a canter to put some distance between them, holding a hand to his ratty cap to keep it from blowing off. Elena laughed, giving him a little wave.

“Ready to set some tongues wagging?”

Arthur tipped his hat to a gawking field hand repairing a fence. The man nearly dropped his hammer, fumbling for it as he stared. “Sure thing.”

They walked in like it were just another day. Couldn’t help but chuckle as they were openly stared at, the few women turning to one another to tut and whisper behind their hands as they fled away from the bloody pair.

Arthur weren’t sure who was more shocking- himself, crusted with blood and bandaged all to hell, or Elena, clad in her tight jeans and man’s shirt, the shoulder cut and baring her bronze skin to the world. Her smile easily given or the sun highlighting the deep chestnut strands in her dark hair.

Arthur knew which he’d be gawking at.

They got the horses stabled, a few dollars paid to the stable owner to keep track of their saddles. Packs slung over their shoulders, they carefully picked their way through the mud towards the Saint Hotel, Arthur hobbling on his bandaged leg. Elena kept the oilcloth with the Wendigo head close, tucked into her bedroll over her arm.

He’d stayed at the Saints Hotel before, but the keeper didn’t seem to recognize him, gasping loudly as they pushed through the swinging wooden door.

“My lady!” the man gushed, hurrying over to Elena, hands fluttering around his face. “Oh lord, what happened?”

Elena politely dipped her head. “I’m sorry for our appearance, Sir. My husband and I were set upon on the road by bandits. We were lucky to come away with our lives.”

“Oh indeed, indeed! How absolutely dreadful. Please, come in. I hope I can be of some small service Miss-?”

“ _Missus._ ” Arthur butted in gruffly, and the man jumped, as if realizing Arthur was even there. “Callahan.”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Callahan. A delight to meet you though I’m sorry to hear of your troubles.”

He offered his arm, and Elena slid hers into it with a polite smile, winking at Arthur over the man’s shoulder.

“Oh Sir, you’re too kind. We merely need a room to collect ourselves, perhaps a bath-“

“Of course!,” he couldn’t get his words out fast enough. “I have a room available and I’ll get one of the girls to warm the water right away. If I may escort you, Mrs. Callahan?”

“You’re far too kind. Thank you.”

Arthur stared after them as the man swept Elena towards the stairs, talking a mile a minute. Seemed she bewitched men with just a glance. Arthur struggled up after them, glowering darkly at the man’s back as Elena laughed at something he said. He could smell the man's interest in her, the quickening of his heart every time she looked in his direction. 

The man showed them to a clean room, at the back of the hotel. It was nicer than the room Arthur usually stayed in, with a neat embroidered blanket on the bed, chest of drawers and a fireplace. Elena made polite talk with him at the door as Arthur hobbled inside and dumped his packs on the bed.

“-and if a meal could be sent up afterwards?” Arthur tuned into the conversation.

“Of course, of course! If you require anything else, please just let me know Mrs. Callahan.”

“I will, Mister Smith. Thank you so much, your generosity is simply…humbling. We are ever so grateful.”

Arthur resisted the urge to slam the door in the man’s face as he bowed and scraped on the way out, only scurrying away when Arthur stomped towards him, scent souring. The door clicked shut, and Elena set her bags down beside the bed, sitting down to test the mattress with a sigh. She wiggled, bouncing gently.

“You havin’ fun?” Arthur drawled. There were a wooden chair by the fireplace, and he winced on his way over, sinking down and propping his bandaged leg out straight in front of him. It throbbed. “That a Were thing, bewitching men?”

She snorted, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Nothing Were about it, Arthur. Men will be men, and a damsel in distress gets their attention is all.”

“I noticed.”

She hummed knowingly, eyes half lidded as she lent back on the mattress, kicking her legs out. “Didn’t like him eyeing up your wife?”

_She ‘aint your wife._ Arthur swallowed, fiddling with his leg to avoid looking at her. “Well what he say? We gettin’ a discount?”

Elena chuckled, flopping down on her back to look at the ceiling. “The bath is free, on account of our _troubles._ We’ll have to share of course.”

Arthur froze. Swallowed. “That so.”

“Mm hm. They’ll bring us some food after, and a catalogue from the shop across the road so we can pick out what clothes we want. Such nice folk.”

She raised herself back up on her elbows to look at him. “Arthur. I can hear your heart pounding like a steam train over here. It’s just a bath.”

A bath. Right. Just…a bath. With all her naked skin only inches away from his.

“Hey.” He hadn’t even heard her rise, boots soft on the worn carpet over the floorboards as she walked over to him. She crouched in front of him, her expression serious. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll just wait. It’s alright.”

Jesus, Morgan. Any other man taking a bath with a beautiful woman would be naked already. The hell was wrong with him?

“No. It’s fine. I’m just…it’s fine.”

Her eyes searched his face. She reached out and touched his knee lightly. Comforting. Just made the flush up his neck worse. “If I made you uncomfortable by kissing you yesterday, I’m sorry. You know you can tell me to go away at any point, okay? I won’t take offence.”

Arthur stared back at her, stupefied. “The hell would I tell you that for?”

“If I’m too forward, or you don’t like something. You tell me, Arthur. I don’t ever want to make you feel like you can’t say no.”

Flustered, Arthur found himself crossing his arms, leaning back like he could distance himself from her. Didn’t know what to do with her straightforward honesty. Did she pity him? Poor broken Arthur. Give the sad man a kiss to make him feel better. “If this is about what I said last night- I weren’t thinkin’ proper. I ‘aint like that.”

“Like what?”

_Weak. Less of a man. Something to be pitied._

At his silence, she shook her head, withdrawing her hand. “I’m a big girl, Arthur. If you don’t see me that way, it’s alright. We can chalk the kiss up to just being glad we’re alive and move on.”

Arthur reached out, grabbing her. He was shaking he realized, fingers trembling as he closed them around her delicate wrist.

“See you what way?” he asked, voice pitched low. _She couldn’t mean?_

The sweet smell curled around them, the chocolate scent he had tried to pick out earlier. It was _her_ he realized.

“I didn’t think I was being subtle,” Elena said slowly. “I like you, Arthur. Not often I meet handsome men in the mountains, less so one that stands up to a Wendigo pack like you did.”

She smiled, soft and genuine. Made something in his chest hurt. “If we were back home with my pack, I’d invite you on a hunt, but I think the Wendigos have been more than enough for both of us for a while.”

“That a big deal for Weres?” he was still holding her, and he smoothed his thumb over the inside of her wrist, the soft skin there where a pulse jumped. The sweet scent swirled around them more strongly.

“It can be. If we want it to. We take lovers or quick tumbles just like humans do.”

“That what you after?” he managed hoarsely, disbelieving she meant with _him._ “A tumble? A quick fuck?”

Elena didn’t flinch at his coarseness. “I want to get to _know you_. All of you.”

“Why?”

He genuinely didn’t know why she wanted to give him the time of day. Mary had been all too quick to point out his flaws despite seeing him at his best- his inadequacies in the face of the kind of man she needed. All Elena had ever seen him do was get hurt and cry about it. Jesus Christ what sorta woman would want a man like him?

“Arthur. You can’t think so little of yourself.”

“You don’t know me very well.”

“That’s true.” He was still holding her wrist, and she covered his hand with her other, curling her fingers around his clenched ones. “What I do know of Arthur Morgan is he’s a good man. He loves his family so much he left them to try and protect them from himself when he didn’t understand why. That he’s been done wrong, by different people, but it didn’t break him. That he tries to do the right thing.”

There were a lump in his throat, and Arthur tried to swallow it down, banish the tight prickling in his eyes. Elena released his hand, reaching up to touch his jaw instead, stroking her thumb gently over the scar on his chin.

“It wasn’t your fault, Arthur,” she murmured. “None of it.”

Arthur breathed out slowly, getting a hold on the emotions roiling around in his chest. For once, there was no voice. No dark utterings at the back of his mind trying to twist her words.

“I ‘aint a good man.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He let go of her wrist, sitting back in the chair more fully. She stayed crouched in front of him, resting her hands on the chair either side of his legs. His gaze travelled over the faded freckles across the bridge of her nose and face, her full lips and the dark lashes that lined her all to understanding eyes.

“I…had a son,” he said slowly. Her intense eyes didn’t leave his. “Eliza was only a kid, nineteen. But she were pretty and I was…lonely. Drunk. I told her I’d do right by her, but never did.”

Isaac had been a happy baby. Eliza didn’t have much but he’d given them what he could from various jobs, so that when he visited, Isaac was thick with baby fat, his giggles fascinating to Arthur. He coulda done more. He knew that.

“They were killed, for all o’ ten dollars. And I weren’t there to save ‘em, too busy robbin’ and killin’. Might as well’ve pulled the trigger myself.”

“And you think you deserve to be punished for that?” she cocked her head. “That you don’t deserve happiness?”

“I doomed that girl the moment I looked at her. She were better off without me. I don’t…" he cleared his throat, mouth dry and croaking. "I don’t wanna do that to you.”

Elena rose to her feet, standing over him. Arthur glared up at her, feeling raw. The sweet smell was muted now, but still there. Still her.

“I’m a woman grown, Arthur. I choose what direction my life takes, no-one else.” She wrinkled her nose. “And right now, I _choose_ to take your ass downstairs and get you in a bath. We’ll deal with whatever, after. Sound good Mr. Callahan?”

The tension dissipated. Arthur heaved himself up, Elena steadying him with a hand on his elbow. “Alright. Whatever you say, Mrs. Callahan.”

* * *

Just when Elena thought she had a grasp on Arthur, he threw something else at her. How could someone go through so much and still be standing? Spoke of a strength of character she certainly didn’t have, and if his intention was warning her away with tales of tragedy, it had the opposite effect. She only respected him more.

He spluttered and cussed as she got him undressed in the bathing room, unraveling the ripped up clothing she’d wound around the worst of his wounds the night before. He was loud about proclaiming the whole thing improper, but his warm pine scent was pleased, not the least bit upset about having her hands on him and pushing him down into the hot water. It was enough that it seemed he wasn't so opposed to her joining him as he might say, and she decided to push him just a little.

The tub took up most of the room, a small table beside it with soap, towels and whiskey if they wanted it. One of the girls had stoked the fire behind the tub so the room was warm and pleasant, the wood floor creaking underfoot as she slipped her boots off.

Arthur watched her with wide eyes as she kicked them away.

“You were serious ‘bout this whole sharin’ business,” he said hoarsely, sinking a little lower into the water. He was broad shouldered, stood a head and shoulders taller than her, could probably lift her over his head if he wanted, and yet he was shrinking away like an embarrassed bride on her wedding night as Elena peeled the shirt off her sweaty skin, pulling it over her head. If she hadn’t been able to smell the desire in his scent over the steam, she might have been offended.

“Damn right. Move those legs over.”

Jeans discarded with her shirt, Elena stepped into the bath, pausing to let her skin and muscles adjust to the temperature.

“You do this a lot?” Arthur asked, voice slightly strangled. “Just cavort about naked in front of strange men?”

She snorted, getting her other foot in and lowering herself down. The water sloshed over her thighs and up her belly, all the way up to her chest. “Only you.”

Arthur was flushed red, gaze averted towards a corner of the room. Under the water, she found his thigh with her foot, nudging him with her toes. “Soap?”

The soap was quickly fumbled from the side table, and passed to her. She set to scrubbing her arms first, before moving up her shoulders, to neck and hair. It had a slight hint of lavender, enough to make her smell a might nicer than she had. She snuck a look at Arthur, and he was watching her, brow furrowed like he was concentrating.

“You wanna help?” she asked, offering the soap. “Could do with some help with my shoulder.”

It took some maneuvering, but she managed to get turned around with her back to him instead with minimal splashing. Crossing her legs in the water, she rested her arms on her knees, closing her eyes and relishing the warmth. The fire crackled merrily in the background, steam rising from the water and caressing her cheeks.

The first touch of Arthur’s hands on her back was feather-light, nervous. He had large, work rough hands, the palms calloused from riding, pads of his fingertips tough from hard work and a gun. He smoothed them carefully around the scab where the Wendigo had skewered her.

“Got you good,” Arthur rumbled, and she felt his knees brush up against her back, water sloshing as he moved close. “Don’t like it.”

Elena resisted the urge to lean back into him. “You definitely came off worse I’d say. It just needs a wash.”

One hand brushed against the back of her neck, a finger trailing softly down her spine. “You got a scar here.”

“I have a few. Trophies, my cousin would say.”

“Hm.” He tapped his fingers down her skin, against the back of her ribs. Made her shiver, goosebumps pebbling along her arms despite the temperature of the water. He shifted her hair away from the bad shoulder, draping it over her other. “You still set on knowin’ me then?”

“I think you keep on doing that, and there’ll be a biblical sort of knowing in a minute.”

He laughed, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. Lord but she could wrap herself up in the sound, rich and deep. Carefully he soaped up her shoulder, cupping water over it after. He repeated the motion a few times until he leaned back with a satisfied grunt.

She craned to look over her shoulder at him. “Come on, scoot back. I’ll help you with your leg.”

More awkward moving, skin squeaking on the tub itself as they rearranged themselves. Elena liked this better, looking at him straight on. Arthur relaxed back against the rim of the tub, arms over the sides as she hoisted his shredded leg into her lap. It still looked sore, ribbons of flesh carved out of his calf, but was scabbing well, would heal to pink soon enough. With some rest and food, he’d recover with just a few new scars. Life as a Were had it’s upsides.

“I ‘aint used to a woman bein’ so forward,” he said suddenly, as she carefully rubbed the soap into his skin. She glanced up, wet hair dragging in the water between them. “I mean…’aint used to women much at all I ‘spose. But I appreciate it. What you said ‘bout…sayin’ no.”

She nodded, setting his leg back under the water. “I meant it. You say no, and I’ll leave you be. No hard feelings.”

“I ‘aint sayin’ no.”

She paused, soap nearly slipping through her fingers. She could feel her heart lurch a little, pulse jumping in her throat.

Arthur dropped his arms into the water. “I don’t understand it, why you’d want me. You’re too goddamn beautiful to be with an old tired outlaw. But I said my piece and you’re still here.”

“Arthur-“

“I only got so much control, Elena,” he said tightly. His pale eyes had darkened, his scent thickening in her nose. “And having you prance about naked ‘aint helpin’ it.”

She smiled, slow and predatory. Could see his eyes narrow at it, a hint of fang in his mouth as the room grew thick with the smell of desire, both hers and his. “No prancing here, _husband_. Offering.”

He growled at her, reached out to grab her by the arms, sending water cascading over the edge of the tub as he hauled her up against his chest, mouth finding hers easily.

He kissed her hungrily, possessive. Smiling against his lips, Elena let him move her where he wanted, her knees thumping against the tub either side of his hips. She had thought maybe she wasn’t to his tastes before, when he hadn’t tried to kiss or touch her again after the night before. But now, in his arms, his mouth on hers, she could very much feel how much he wanted her, the hard press of him against her inner thigh.

But there would be time for that later. She focused on kissing him, first open mouthed and desperate, then slower, more chaste. She trailed smaller kisses along his jaw and cheek that made him laugh, chest vibrating against hers and made his eyes crinkle in the corners that made her heart beat quicker. He ran his hands down her arms and back, she traced the scars down his neck and shoulders.

“This alright?” he asked her quietly, threading his fingers through her long hair, pressing a kiss against her ear as his other hand fit around the curve of her breast. “I’m not…’aint that I don’t-“

“This is perfect,” she promised him. As much as she wanted him properly, after what he had been through, sex was something she could wait on. Build up to. There was a world of intimacy she wanted to show him and they had time.

The room was quiet but for the sloshing of water and the crackling of the fire. All too soon the bath water was cold, chilling them both.

“We should get upstairs,” Elena said reluctantly. “Catch our death of cold carrying on in here.”

Arthur smiled, limbs loose and languid, hands on her hips. “What a way to go.”

The towels were scratchy, but Elena didn’t mind as they both dried off. Something in Arthur had relaxed, his scent calmer. Towels wrapped firmly around hips and chests, and carrying their destroyed clothes, they got back to their room with only an embarrassed squawk from the owner as they passed.

There was a small pile of things on the bed as they entered. Arthur frowned, holding the towel around his waist as he glanced suspiciously down at the pile.

“The hell’s that?”

“I asked Mister Smith to get us a few things,” Elena said, rifling through, her own towel slipping. Some spare clothes to wear for now, a second oil cloth so she could secure the Wendigo head better and…

Perfect. Elena picked it up, admiring the supple brown leather cover. She turned to Arthur, offering it.

“I know it’s probably not as nice as your old one but…here.”

Arthur looked floored as she handed it to him, mouth agape as he stared at the journal in his hands. “You…got this for me?”

Elena crossed her arms, enjoying the raw pleasure on his face. “Of course. You have a gift, Arthur. Now you can write and illustrate new adventures.”

He thumbed through the blank pages like he couldn’t quite believe it. “I…Thank you.”

Elena yelped as he suddenly swept her up, journal and all and plopped her down on the bed. She bounced, her towel falling away and Arthur crawled over her, mischief in his eyes. 

"Thank you," he said again against her lips, and she melted against him, wound her arms around his neck and pulled him close until she could feel his heart beating against hers.

* * *

….


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Had the flu, feeling better now but working, so updates are a bit slower. Bear with me! :)

* * *

Valentine was a hive of activity, the sounds of saws and hammers barely rising over the din of livestock and horses. The town had quickly rebuilt after seeing the backs of the Van der Linde gang, and it were impressive to see. Still smelled like shit, but that were the way of a livestock town. Sadie leaned back against the sun warmed fence, flicking her hat further back on her blonde head so she could look down the main street.

“Well,” she chuckled. “I were expectin’ this whole thing to be a hell of a lot harder.”

Charles grunted, securing Taima’s reins to the post outside the stables. “Once took me a week to track Arthur down when he was up in the Grizzlies. Takes John all of a day.”

John had been quiet most of the ride up from Rhodes. There were dark circles spreading under his eyes, his scraggly beard starting to get bushy. Abigail hadn’t made life easy for him since Jack was taken, and he’d probably barely slept. But he’d been alert enough to spot Valkyrie’s distinct pale silver coat in the stable yard as they rode through town, the mare tossing her head and greeting them with a friendly whinny.

The stable doors creaked, spitting out John who stomped over to them. “Says he headed to the hotel.”

Sadie pushed away from the fence, raising a hand towards the stable owner who peered out suspiciously at them. “Finally some luck then. Could ask if-“

“’Aint got no time for _askin’,”_ John growled, shoulders set in a sharp line. “Jack’s missin’ and here’s Arthur playin’ ‘round. The hell he doin’ here?”

Charles shrugged, shouldering his bow. “Selling some hides? John, it’s not Arthur’s fau-“

“He shoulda _been_ there!” John snarled, scarred face twisting as he whirled on Charles. “The Braithwaites, the Grays, the whole damn mess, where was he? Coulda stopped it.”

Sadie’s lip curled, hands balling into fists as anger sparked in her eyes. “That ‘aint goddamn fair, and you know it, Marston. You’re worried, ‘course you are. We all are. But we’re here to _ask_ Arthur back. To help. Not _make ‘_ im _._ ”

She could see Charles look at her from the corner of her eye, but not disapproving. They both cared for Arthur, and she knew John did too, just couldn’t see past the fear of losing Jack.

John didn’t look at her straight, but scowled down at his boots, anger and guilt simmering just below the surface. “Whatever. Let’s go get ‘im.”

He didn’t leave them time to argue, spinning on his heel and purposefully marching towards the Saints Hotel, stained coat flapping. Sadie sighed, shooting a pointed look at Charles.

“Still think it was a good idea to bring John?” she asked dryly, setting off after him. Mud squelched under her boots, made walking difficult, but she kept her balance, following John’s angry strides.

Charles just laughed, the bastard.

John was already up and through the swinging wooden doors as Sadie clattered up the stairs after him. She’d never stayed at the hotel herself, but it seemed pleasant enough as she dipped inside, eyes adjusting from the brightness of the sun outside. She'd spent her honeymoon in a place similar, back as a younger woman newly wed and quickly she buried the bittersweet memory back where it belonged before it could choke her. John had already startled the hotel owner into a stream of babbled words, clearly under the impression they were there to rob him. Couldn’t argue much, they looked rough all of them, from the stained clothes to the weapons carried at their hips and over their shoulders. They _looked_ like outlaws.

Was a time, the thought would’ve made her laugh. That she’d be like that, one of them. But she were.

“-checked in only this morning!” the man was stuttering, John leaning towards him dangerously, palms flat on the desk. “Please, sir, they were in a bad way, it ‘aint-“

“What. Room.” John ground, leaning closer and the man cringed away, already sweating.

“Upstairs! Last room on the right.” He whined, expecting a punch, but John just leaned back with a fake smile in place.

“Thanks. Much obliged.”

John was in motion, boots loud on the creaking wooden stairs. Sadie rolled her eyes, shooting the shaking hotel owner as nice a smile as she could manage.

“Not here for no harm, Sir,” she said politely. “Just a friend o’ ours we wanna check in on.”

It didn’t seem to comfort him none. The man simply hurried away down the corridor, looking fearfully over his shoulder like Sadie might leap over the desk and attack him.

“John!” Charles barked, hurrying up the stairs after him. “Wait!”

Sadie followed, taking the steps two at a time to keep up with the two men. It was only a small hotel, four rooms at the most, and John was down the hall and into the room before Sadie even made it to the top of the stairs. She heard the door slam open, John disappearing from view.

“Arthur!” John’s shout echoed back down to her. “What the he-“

Charles ducked in after him, and Sadie hurried the last few feet, hoping she wasn’t about to walk into a brawl. She’d seen John and Arthur get into it before, their tempers usually running too hot around each other. Like a pair of boys rolling around in the mud yelling about who said what.

But coming into the room, she nearly ran right into the back of Charles who stood stock still at the door. John was further in, had come in with all the speed of a charging bull but then run out of steam, huffing and puffing as he stood in the middle of the room, staring at the bed.

And Arthur-

Sadie felt herself go red immediately, the blush sizzling up her neck to her cheeks, sorely tempted to duck back behind Charles for cover. But Sadie had been a married woman, and a naked man weren’t as scandalous as it had once been. Arthur looked _furious,_ had the sheets of the bed pulled up and balled up in front of his crotch to protect his modesty, but…there were still a lot of skin on show. It took Sadie a second for her brain to kick in and see past the strong shoulders and muscles that jumped along his stomach, the v of his hips behind his balled up sheet and the strong line of his thighs. She blinked and started to take in the multitude of scars settled into his skin- the scabs and pink knife scars, white cigarette burn scars along his chest and ribs. There was a blue bruise spreading down his neck and chest, yellow at the edges and a word was carved into a bicep, though she couldn’t see what it read.

Were clear though what had caused them. O’Driscolls.

It was enough to douse the burning in Sadie’s cheeks, sympathy and shame following coldly.

There were newer wounds too, slashes and puncture wounds along his arms and sides- his leg looked like it had been caught in something, the flesh scabbing and warped around his calf, but on its way to healing that told her he’d done it a few days ago.

“The _fuck_ you doin’ here, Marston!?” Arthur’s voice was a bellow she could feel in her chest, and for a blind moment, Sadie was afraid. His eyes were so pale, narrowed in anger. “Bargin’ in ‘ere like-“

“Jack’s missin’,” John blurted, voice strangled like he were being choked. “And you’re ‘ere…. _fuckin’ whores!?”_

Movement from the bed, and too late Sadie realized Arthur hadn’t been alone. A woman sat up, settling her back against the headboard. Her long dark hair was damp, and it trailed down to thankfully cover her bare breasts from view. If she was a whore, she weren’t a cheap one, smooth skin and looks far removed from the rougher women that haunted Valentine’s saloon. Sadie found herself blushing all over again as the woman’s golden eyes settled on her.

“The hell you call- Jack’s _missin_ ’?”

Arthur looked torn between just lunging at John, and absorbing what he had said. John didn’t seem able to form any more words, just looking stupidly between Arthur and the strange woman. Arthur had never taken a woman, as far as Sadie knew. Never took a whore, never dallied with any of the pretty girls of the towns they blew through. The women at camp said it was ‘cause of a Mary, but Sadie had never met her.

Charles didn’t seem to want to help, blatantly staring at the woman as well. Sadie swallowed hard, stepping beside him.

“Sorry, Arthur,” she said hoarsely, not sure where to look. “We didn’t uh…mean to disturb…y’all. But Jack’s been taken, and…well, we need your help.”

Arthur looked between her and John. Still stood there holding the sheet in front of him. “The hell happened? Who took ‘im?”

Sadie settled for staring at his shoulder, concentrating hard. “The Braithwaite woman. Think she knew somethin’ was up and gave him to some asshole in Saint Denis. Took him fore’ the fire-“

“Fire?” Arthur echoed sternly, and she cringed, couldn’t help it. Gone was the broken man she’d seen ride out of camp, buckling under the weight of what had happened to him. The very air around Arthur now seemed to crackle with danger, and he stood tall, imposing even without a stitch on. Couldn’t explain it. “The hell-“

“You shoulda stayed!” John broke in, finding his anger again and blustering back up. “It all went to shit after you left, and now Jack’s _gone_ and you’re here…” he wrestled with the words as Arthur’s expression darkened, his eyes warning John not to. But as always, John barreled on, squaring his narrow shoulders.

“Fuckin’ whores while my son is _missin’!”_

Arthur looked like he was about to set on him, but in a blink, the woman had reached over, taking Arthur's arm, stopping him. With her arm outstretched, Sadie could see a wound on her too, what looked like a animal bite scabbing over her shoulder.

The woman’s gaze settled on John, and he wilted under it, the wind blowing out of him fast.

“I’m no whore,” she said, and the words were polite enough, but Sadie felt the tone behind it, the threat. “And if I was, it would be no business of yours. Your son is missing. Let’s stick with that, shall we?”

“We apologize,” Charles finally said, voice pitched low. It was so stiffly formal that Sadie looked at him, for the first time noticed he wasn’t so much _gawking_ at the woman as he was frozen, like a mouse spotting a cat. “We didn’t know. We’ll go.”

When her gold eyes fell on him, Charles stepped back, towards the door. She smiled, but it didn’t seem like a friendly kind, and Charles took another half step.

“You see me,” the woman said. “You know.”

Sadie was pretty sure they all saw her. Hard not to, but the meaning seemed different to Charles, and he ducked his head in an odd half-bow.

“We apologize,” he repeated, and Sadie wondered if she were missing something, the air in the room thick. “We meant no offence.”

The woman laughed, and the tension in the room relaxed, Arthur’s stiff posture loosening. It were a nice voice she had, musical almost. Accented a bit, and with her colouring, could be Mexican.

“One of your friends has manners, Arthur,” she said, letting go of Arthur’s arm. “Can you folk let us get some clothes on? We can talk then.”

It was a reasonable request. Sadie leaned forward, grabbing John by his coat sleeve, tugging hard. “Can do. Come on, Marston. We’ll wait by the stables.”

Charles was out the door already. Sadie had to yank hard, and John stumbled, following like a scolded child as she pulled him out of the room and down the carpeted steps. She didn’t let go of him until they were outside again, blinking in the sun.

“The hell?” John finally said, coming out of his stupor. Two workhands stepped around him as he stood on the wooden path, stupefied. “That were…Arthur never takes a woman.”

Sadie sighed.“’Aint none o’ our business. That were exactly what we were tryin’ to _avoid,_ you hot-headed asshole.”

Charles seemed flustered, muttering to himself, hand clenching around the string of his bow across his chest. Sadie gestured to him.

“And what about you? What was that?”

Charles shook his head, looking back towards the stables where Taima waited patiently. “Nothing. We shouldn’t have barged in like that.”

John shook himself like a dog having a bath, nearly walking into another worker who spat a curse at him. “Can’t believe it. A woman _. With_ Arthur?”

Sadie rolled her eyes. _Men_. 

* * *

They settled in the saloon in the end, after Arthur managed to get dressed and Elena bundled their things away.

Arthur couldn’t rightly explain why he felt nervous, and he sat on the rickety wooden chair awkwardly, foot bouncing against the floorboards as he listened to Charles lay it all out. Now he could single it out, Arthur could smell the unease on him, the fear that spiked every time Elena moved. Was sharp enough he could pick it out even over the spilled beer and vomit that settled on the saloon like a shroud.

 _He can see behind my human face,_ Elena’d said in the hotel room as she’d wrapped the Wendigo head in the second oil cloth, stowing it with her bed roll. _He’s of the People. They always could see more of our world._

John just stank of worry, enough that it made Arthur’s nose hurt and he tried to breathe out his mouth as much as he could. Elena listened closely to Charles, elbows on the sticky peeling table and chin in her hands. They’d grabbed a few extra things from the shop next door, and she’d picked a black blouse embroidered with red flowers at the shoulders she’d tucked into a new pair of high waist jeans. It were open to her throat again, and Arthur fought the urge to just kiss her there, modesty be damned. 

Arthur half expected her take her leave, after the three idiots had barged in. They’d started something, him and her, but it was too new, too fragile to put to the test. He couldn’t ask her to get involved in whatever insanity Dutch had gotten himself into, and it seemed there had been a fair share of it in Arthur’s absence. But she had followed him to the saloon, sat herself down like she were there to stay, and Arthur hoped she would.

Sean dead. Most of Rhodes shot in the street. Brathwaite manor burned down with the old hag inside with her dead sons. Now Jack gone.

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face as Charles finally finished. “Hellfire. He’s in Saint Denis?”

Charles nodded. They’d all ordered a drink, and John stared at his bottle like it was the most interesting thing in the world, anything to avoid looking at him. It made Arthur bristle, but he let it be. Clear as day John weren’t doing well with it all.

Sadie leaned back in her chair, bottle held loosely. “Angelo Bronte, weren’t it? Some businessman or another. Dutch was on about payin’ ‘im a visit.”

Elena snorted. John flinched at the noise, but Charles straightened, like he was expecting trouble. Made Arthur’s gums itch, but Elena set a hand on his bouncing thigh under the table. She was calm, unaffected. Arthur tried to be too.

“Angelo Bronte is more than just a businessman,” Elena said, and her gaze darted around the saloon as if expecting eavesdroppers. “He practically owns Saint Denis. Runs everything from the police to the Mayor. You’d best tread carefully there.”

John finally looked up, stubbornness winning out. “You know ‘im, then?”

“Not personally,” Elena shook her head. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, out of her face. Highlighted the bruise the Wendigo had given her across one cheek, and Arthur had gotten more than one dark look from the other saloon patrons when he’d come in with her. “But he’s a powerful man. He won’t give up your Jack without a damn good reason, and even then you shouldn’t trust him. I’d wager money on the fact that the Braithwaites were trading with him, and you getting rid of them has cost him money. A lot of it.”

“So what you sayin?” John asked harshly, still spitting fire. “That we might as well give up?”

“I’m saying _,_ you need to be smart,” Elena shot back. “Angelo Bronte is a powerful man. But he's not the only player in Saint Denis, and there might be another we can use to get Bronte to give back Jack.”

Arthur’s chest went warm. _We._ Hesitantly, he covered her hand on his thigh with his own, squeezing her fingers gently.

“Can’t ask you to get involved in this,” he murmured, leaning in close to her. “Not your people to fuss over.”

John garbled something as Elena leaned towards Arthur, lips gentle where they pressed against his jaw in a quick kiss. “You’re my people. So now they are too.”

Her eyes were soft and warm as she pulled back and he wanted to chase her, wanted to kiss her right there and then, in front of their disbelieving eyes and forget 'bout everything. But Jack needed him. Needed _them._

Sadie just sat back at grinned at them both. Arthur glared at her for good measure, but she didn’t look put off, arching an eyebrow at him. Elena settled back into her chair.

“I can’t promise it’ll work but, I think I can help,” she said quietly. “Bronte answers to someone else. Someone more powerful than him. We can barter with them to get Bronte to release Jack. No fighting, no blood spilled. No Pinkertons.”

John stiffened, glaring at Arthur. “You tell ‘er ‘bout that?”

“Aw back off, Marston. She ‘aint no lawman sent to snitch us in.”

“That so?” John asked, getting to his feet. The chair groaned against the floor, nearly toppling over. “Could be that’s what she _wants_ you to think!”

They’d attracted the attention of other people in the saloon. With a mutter, Charles grabbed John’s arm, dragging him back down into the chair.

“John, shut the hell up _,_ ” he hissed. “She’s not a lawman, she’s offered to help us, so take the damn help and keep your mouth _shut._ ”

John was startled into silence. Sadie cleared her throat, setting her bottle back on the table.

“Alright then. This someone else. Who are they and what we gotta do to speak to ‘em? And what do we have to offer ‘em?”

Elena looked meaningfully at Arthur. “I have something valuable to trade in return for a favor. I think it would be enough.”

 _The Wendigo head._ All that trouble for it and they’d have to trade it away anyways. He'd trade a hundred if it meant keeping Jack safe, but it was a large chunk of cash she was giving up for some kid that weren't hers. 

“As for who they are, it’s a closely guarded secret,” Elena continued. “I can’t tell you more than that.”

“And that’s all we have to go on?” John broke in again. “We gotta trust you? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Elena said, crossing her arms. “I know that doesn’t sit well with you, John. But we can get your boy back. Believe that at least.”

Arthur stayed out of it, let them come to their own decision. Sure, he hadn’t known Elena long either, but she’d never given him cause to doubt her. She said she’d help, she would. Wouldn’t have dragged his injured ass all over the mountains fighting Wendigos if she weren’t at least a little bit good.

“We should speak to Dutch first,” Charles said lowly. “We don’t want him pissing off Bronte before we can get this…someone else involved.”

Sadie nodded, slapping her hand onto the table. “Agreed. You comin’ with us, Arthur?”

Arthur bent his head towards Elena again. “You sure? You don’t-“

“I’m coming,” she said loudly, draining the rest of her drink in a gulp. The bottle hit the table and Charles flinched. “Lead the way.”

Arthur expected John to protest, that she couldn’t come to camp with them, but it seemed most of the fight had gone out him, he just glared at the table again smelling like anger and guilt.

“Alright then,” Arthur got to his feet, offering his hand to Elena. Her fingers were warm in his, and he slid his thumb over the back of her hand. “Let’s go see Dutch.”

* * *

It weren’t Clements Point they returned to. They rode hard through the day with only a few breaks for the horses. Valkyrie was used to the pace, but Arthur had worried for Ghost, the smaller Criollo perhaps not used to the distance, but the gelding surprised them all by keeping with them, always ready to go again after a rest. They were all quiet, though Sadie had struck a brief conversation with Elena as they passed Emerald Ranch. Arthur kept close, the unease in his belly getting worse as they got onto land he knew well.

Were night as they passed Rhodes, Charles leading the way with a lantern down the dirt paths, down towards the swamps. Sadie had told him about the new campsite, the old plantation house that had once housed another gang. Were unusual to have a roof over their heads, and more unusual for Arthur to miss a move like that.

The air was humid, thick with moisture that made sweat bead down his back, even in the cooler night air. The air was heavy with smells, but too wet to distinguish them. Slowing the horses to a trot, Arthur hung back behind the others, Elena pulling up beside him. She leaned in the saddle, reaching over to touch his leg as they rode side by side.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, out of earshot. “You’re making me nervous.”

Arthur shifted in the saddle. Valkyrie’s smell was comforting around him, horse hair and straw. Though he might be a ball of nerves, the mare was loose gaited and happy, following the other horses she knew and considered herd. It was a far cry from the mountains and Wendigos, and she embraced it.

“A lot’s changed since I left,” Arthur said tightly, seeing lights bob in the distance through the thick trees. “ _I’ve_ changed. Feels…outta sorts.”

Elena nodded, taking her reins again. “I can stay back if you think it’ll cause trouble. If everyone’s on edge-“

“No,” Arthur said quickly. Last thing he wanted was Elena out in the swamps on her own in the dark. A feral part of him wanted to walk into camp with his head held high and her on his arm, teeth bared. She was his, he wanted to bray it to the moon and stars, howl it down the hills. She was _his,_ and his willing. 

The trees cleared a bit, and the plantation house came into view, squatting and dilapidated in the swamp. Lemoyne Raiders, Charles had said. Arthur had cleared them out with Lenny back when they first moved down to Rhodes, but it had been Bill and Javier who cleared them out a second time for good. He could smell the cooking pot, hear the low murmurs of voices gathered around the fire and it made him ache, realized he'd missed it. Missed them.

A shout went up as they approached, and Arthur took a steadying breath as he saw Hosea get up from the fire, looking towards them.

“Is that- well I’ll be. Arthur!”

Quickly people ducked out of tents, the doors to the house opening and closing as more hurried to greet the riders.

“Arthur!”

“’Aint you a sight for sore eyes.”

“The hell you find ‘im, Charles?”

Abigail shoved through the crowd, eyes wild and harried. “Arthur! They took my boy. They took my Jack.”

“Easy Abigail,” Arthur said soothingly, pulling Valkyrie to a stop. The crowd made room enough for him to dismount, boots settling in the grass. “We’ll get him back.”

“’Course we will! Now that you’re here.” Dutch’s voice boomed across them all, and they parted to let him through, Dutch grinning like Arthur had only been on a quick job. “We missed you, Arthur.”

It felt like a punch to the gut, and Arthur grappled with Valkyrie’s reins, trying to suck in a lungful of breath as Dutch's words bounced in his ears. 

He knew the scent, Elena had showed him how to tell, how to pick between truth and not when someone was speaking.

Dutch was lying.

Micah slunk in beside him, eyes half lidded and watchful. Arthur wanted to snap at him, tear the smirk off his face as he leered. “Who’s the senorita, Morgan?”

The voices around them died down, all eyes turning to Elena, who dismounted and came to stand beside Arthur. Ghost immediately started grazing, uncaring of the attention. She was uneasy, but she stood with her shoulders back and head high, flashing them all a smile.

“Elena Vasquez. Pleasure to meet you all.”

Silence. 

They all stared at her, barely moving. Arthur's senses honed in on the hum of insects around them, the crackling of the cooking fire behind. A muscle jumped in Dutch’s forehead as he glowered at Elena, suspicious. There were protocols Arthur had broken, allowing her to come in like this. Rules meant to keep the gang safe, to avoid betrayal. But they hadn't been through what Arthur had, hadn't seen what he had. What she was. Arthur swayed closer to her, fingers twitching towards his hip, to his gun as he stared them back down. He'd defend her from them, his suspicious family, if he had to. Micah sneered at him, hostile and sour, daring him.

Hosea, God bless him, cleared his throat first, stepping forward past Dutch and offered his hand. “Not often Arthur brings such pleasant company, Miss. Vasquez. Forgive our manners, it's been...a difficult time.”

Elena smiled at the old con-man, though it was strained, shaking his hand sharply. “Under present circumstances, I can understand it. I’m here to help, if I can.”

Arthur’s head was pounding. The air was close with all of their scents, their unease and emotions. He could smell the booze on Uncle's breath, the opium sweetly crusting on Reverend's waist coat. Molly's perfume, Javier's gun oil. He focused on Elena, on her soothing chocolate scent and it helped, made the scratching behind his eyes bearable.

“Elena knows a bit ‘bout Bronte,” he said gruffly, not liking how Micah was eyeing her. Dutch was silent, expression unreadable. “And has an idea to get Jack back.”

Abigail swept past the men, desperate as she clasped at Elena’s hands. Her dress was stained, her hair dirty. She'd not been looking after herself. “That true? You can get my boy?”

“I’m going to try,” Elena said gently, letting Abigail hold onto her. And that weren't a lie, the saying true. Made Arthur want to sweep her up and bundle her away from their suspicious eyes.

John hurried to Abigail’s side, murmuring to her. Tried to move her away, taking hold of her shoulders. Abigail ignored him, shrugging him off as she held Elena's hands tighter.

“Please,” she begged, and Arthur felt his heart break for her, what she must be going through. “ _Please_ bring him back.”

Elena nodded, and the other women hurried forward to pull Abigail away. She looked lost, eyes wet in the firelight and looking at Elena desperately as the women ushered Abigail back towards the house. Tilly and Karen threw curious glances over their shoulders towards Elena as they went, Mary-Beth concentrating on getting Abigail back inside. Susan stood with the men, arms crossed and shoulders held stiffly. They had no reason to trust this stranger, and Arthur fought the urge to just snarl at them, to curl his lip and flash fangs. Elena deserved more than that.

Dutch crossed his arms, eyes cold as he looked at Arthur. “Guess we should talk.”

Arthur’d rather do anything but. The sharp sour smell of Dutch’s lie still sat heavy in his nose, choking him.

_We missed you._

Like hell he had.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexy times *blushes*

* * *

Dutch Van der Linde wasn’t what Elena was expecting.

He looked the part, had the charisma and belief that had clearly bound the gang to him, made them trust his every word. But he smelled…odd. Confused. Something wasn’t quite right about him, but Elena couldn’t put her finger on it, couldn’t dig down past his confident exterior to see what might be rotting underneath.

He was suspicious of her, unhappy and scowling as Arthur insisted she was there to help. These were Arthur’s people, and she said what she could, trusting that they must be decent enough people if Arthur loved them. Abigail’s grief smothered the camp in a stifling blanket, but it was honest and genuine. Elena would do what she could to get her lost pup, no mother should go to sleep with empty arms.

The others she didn’t get to see. She and Arthur were ushered into Dutch’s room in the crumbling plantation house, a sparse room with a broken bed and creaking floorboards. The walls were peeling, bullet holes punched into the wall around the balcony door. A dresser missing the drawers was shoved up against a broken window, several lit candles casting a small enough light to fill the room. It stank of wet rot and something darker, and Elena tried not to breathe too deeply.

It seemed only the inner circle of the gang was allowed here, to listen as Arthur and Dutch argued. Hosea was the closest thing to what would be a pack Beta, and he tried to appease both sides, urging caution, but also that the slight could not go unpunished. Dutch wanted blood. To approach Bronte under the guise of friendship then to destroy him. Arthur argued for them to listen to Elena and her plan, that it was safer for the boy.

Elena didn’t like Micah. Judging from Arthur’s curled lip as the man was allowed in Dutch’s room with them, she gathered Micah wasn’t generally considered one of the inner circle. That he had eagerly placed himself into the space Arthur had left, wanting to be Dutch’s right hand. He leered at her, sat on the sagging bed and licking dry chapped lips. The sour smell of his desire made her gag, made her stomach churn and bile burn in the back of her throat. Death crusted under his fingernails, followed in the pauses when he spoke. Of them all, he made her the most nervous.

“-you want us to trust some _woman,_ ” Dutch gestured towards her, and Elena straightened, bringing her attention back to the present. “That you found in the woods?”

Arthur stood with his arms crossed, shoulders stiff and muscles pulled tight. He’d picked out a blue long sleeve shirt from Valentine, brown suspenders and new dark jeans. Already he was walking normally on the leg the Wendigos had savaged, another day and both of them would be as new with only scars to tell the tale. “She saved my life. You can trust ‘er.”

Micah chuckled, picking at his teeth with a dirty finger. “Ask me, you lost your edge, Morgan. Makin’ womenfolk do your fightin’? Didn’t realize Colm took your _balls_ too.”

She wouldn’t mind if Arthur killed him, she decided. Subtly Elena shifted closer to Arthur, trying to reassure him she was there, had his back. A growl rumbled in his chest but he kept control, the wolf behind his eyes pacing. He had mastered much in the short time she had been teaching him, and a surge of pride made her heartbeat quicker, made her own scent stronger, buffering them both from Micah’s stench.

“I didn’t ask you a goddamn thing, Micah, so keep your greasy trap shut ‘fore I shut it for you.”

Hosea sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Dutch, we don’t got much choice. She says she can help, I say we try. If Bronte is as powerful as she says, we don’t want to draw his attention. What with Cornwall-“

“To hell with Cornwall!” Dutch shot back. There was a wildness in his eyes that Elena didn’t like. “They’re all the same, these goddamn _powerful men._ Think they can just take what’s ours and not pay the consequences? We can’t stand for it. I _won’t_ stand for it.”

They were running in circles. Time that they couldn’t afford to lose if they wanted the boy back. Elena cleared her throat.

“I get it,” she broke in. Hosea glanced at her, Dutch resolutely still glaring at Arthur. “You don’t trust me. That’s fine, I don’t need your trust. Tomorrow I’ll take Arthur and approach my contact in Saint Denis. If it doesn’t work, then by all means go after Bronte. Just let me _try_.”

“Why?” Dutch asked, his dark eyes finally looking at her. He smelled like cigars and cologne. “Why you want to help us? What did Arthur promise you?”

Elena shook her head. “Arthur didn’t promise me anything, and I don’t expect anything in return. I just want to-“

“No-one does anythin’ for free,” Micah drawled, and her skin crawled as his gaze dragged up her body, zeroing on her hips and chest. “Everyone’s gotta get paid one way or another, senorita.”

Arthur took a menacing step forward, staring him down. “She got a name. Use it.”

Micah cackled, slapping his knee. His teeth were rotten and yellowing, the sight made Elena cringe. “Well I never. You sweet on ‘er, Morgan? That why you playin’ at bein’ a man?”

“Enough!” Hosea snapped, patience worn thin. There were shadows under his eyes that only grew deeper in the flickering candlelight, the lines of his face bending. He smelled tired, like a rabbit at the end of a chase. “Dutch, let her try. We got nothing more to lose, and we don’t need more heat on us by picking a fight with someone new.”

Elena watched Dutch wrestle with the decision, his mind turning it over and over as the room waited. Outside, Elena could hear the night coming alive, the chirps of crickets and the distant bellows of the crocs in the swamp. Even the house was stirring, mice scurried underneath the floorboards away from their voices, something larger settling into a fur lined nest in the attic. There were stories in this house, echoes of other lives, but Elena let them be, knew better than to disturb their rest.

“Fine,” Dutch finally said. “You go see if you can get Jack back easy. If you can’t, then we take on Bronte.”

“But Dutch,” Micah protested, getting to his feet. “We can’t-“

“That’s my decision,” Dutch warned, and Micah backed down quickly, tail tucked. “You get that boy back, Arthur.”

“I will, Dutch.”

Dutch sighed. “Alright. Get, all of you. I need to…need to think.”

Elena was all too happy to leave the oppressive room. She followed Arthur into the hallway, where an older woman was waiting. Her look was stern, but her scent was affectionate, gentle.

“I made your room when we moved,” she said to Arthur, gesturing towards the door down the hallway. She sniffed, looking Elena up and down. “’M sure we can find space for you somewhere, Miss. Hope you don’t mind sharin’.”

Arthur’s hand touched Elena’s hip, hesitantly pulling her a little closer to him. “Thanks Susan but she’ll uh…she’ll bunk with me.”

It wasn’t the strongest claim she’d ever heard, but it made Elena’s belly warm, made her wolf preen and croon. Susan’s eyes widened, but she recovered quickly, clearing her throat. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress tightly.

“Of…of course. Goodnight, Arthur.”

Elena held her laugh until after the woman hurried away, down the rickety stairs and out of earshot. Arthur steered Elena towards the room, his hand on her lower back, warm even over the fabric. The air in the house was dusty, but whatever firefight had once been fought here had left holes in the walls, and fresher air flowed freely this side of the house.

“You realize they’re all going to be gossiping now,” Elena said lightly. Someone had lit a lantern already, and it cast long swinging shadows as they pushed into the room. The walls of Arthur’s room were as rotted and crumbling as the rest of the house, but the window was intact, the roof tight. It was drafty, but dry and there was a bed at least. Arthur shut the door with a click, breathing out slowly. Elena pulled off her boots, tossing them towards a corner, spurs clinking together. She wiggled her feet against the rough floorboards.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just didn’t want you outta sight with Micah eyein’ you like that.”

She hummed, slowly turning in the center of the room. “I’ve handled worse than Micah.”

There weren’t many belongings, mainly boxes of ammo that the whole camp must use, a map and a few mementoes. It was the photos that caught her eye, and she studied them all eagerly, wanting to know more pieces of what had made Arthur Morgan.

One was a woman, and she was set apart, in an oval frame. Young and beautiful. Noticing her gaze, Arthur sighed, shoulders shrugging.

“Mary,” he offered her, and she absorbed the name, the heaviness behind his voice that hinted at much more than that. “That were…her.”

Ah. The woman that had left. Elena studied her for a moment, memorized the features and lines of the woman in the dim lamplight who had loved Arthur and broken his heart.

_I’ll take much better care of the pieces you left behind._

Mary was gone, and Elena was here. She turned, and Arthur was close, watching her.

“I’m glad they listened,” she said, reaching out to run her hand along his arm. He was still tense, jittery, and she tried to tease the steel out of his muscles, fingertips massaging his arms through the fabric of his shirt. “And Micah can go fuck himself.”

Arthur huffed, but he relaxed slightly under her touch, and she pressed closer, kissing the hollow of his throat. “He probably will, the little rat. Thinkin’ o’ you.”

Elena wrinkled her nose, rubbing her cheek against his chin, his beard scratching her skin. “Disgusting.”

“You think we can really get Jack back?” Arthur asked, and he encircled her in his arms, hugging her close. She fit so perfectly against him, his chin resting on her head, and she curled into him with a happy sigh.

“I hope so.”

“This contact in Saint Denis, they a Were too?”

Elena shook her head, listening to the steady thump of Arthur’s heart under her cheek. She closed her eyes, trying to memorize the sound and rhythm. “No. They’re…different. From the old world.”

“European?” Arthur chuckled, the sound rumbling like slow thunder over wide plains. Elena sank into the sound, warm and safe. His pine scent curled all around her, and with a sigh, she shifted, winding her arms up and around his neck.

“You could say that. But tonight, I don’t want to think about tomorrow.”

“That so?” his voice had dropped to a drawl, and it excited her, the feral possessiveness that flared in his eyes as the scent of her own desire bled into his. “Darlin’, you don’t gotta-“

“I want to,” she breathed, and she kissed him, feather light. He had claimed her, outside. Proclaimed her his, and now she wanted to claim him. “I want to please you.”

Arthur scoffed, but he went where she pushed him, backing up until his legs hit the bed behind him. “You please me by existin’, Elena, I don’t-“

“Please,” she said, and he plopped down on the bed, pupils blown wide as he huffed a deep breath of her scent. “Let me.”

He swallowed, and she ducked down, chasing the movement of his throat with her lips. He tasted of dried sweat from the ride, dust from the road and…him. The addicting taste of Arthur himself. Shaking, he dug his fingers deep into her hair, letting her hair down from its bun to cascade around her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said thickly, and she kissed his throat, his scarred chin and his cheek. “I don’t deserve-“

She silenced him with a kiss, swallowing down his words. She set her hands on his thighs, jeans warm under her palms. Elena could feel him tense, and she eased away from his mouth, following the line of his cheekbone to temple. His skin was sun weathered and lined, a life more hard lived than hers.

“You’re safe with me, Arthur,” she murmured. “Let me show you. Please.”

He nodded jerkily, and she eased back, sinking to her knees on the hard wood floor, kneeling between his legs. Arthur was breathing hard, and he watched her with wide eyes, disbelieving.

She smoothed her palms up his thighs again, watching him carefully. The lantern cast a orange glow across them, Arthur’s features more soft in the shadows. He was nervous, she could smell that easy enough, but desire was stronger and he didn’t stop her, wasn’t afraid.

She shuffled closer, his knees nestled against her sides, and she moved her hands higher, up his thighs and into the crease of his hip. He shuddered, and with a smile she ran her hands up over his zipper, over the beginnings of an erection and up further still- to his belly and chest.

Elena discarded the suspenders first, peeling them down and off his arms so that they dropped down onto the musty bed. She unbuttoned his shirt next, slow and careful on each button until she could push the shirt aside and bare his chest and stomach. His hands fisted in the blanket either side of him, but he didn’t move, didn’t order her away.

She was gentle here too, starting at his chest where she kissed each silver scar and burn mark. The hair on his chest and stomach tickled her lips, and he squirmed as she breathed out a warm chuckle here and there, running lips and tongue wherever she could reach.

“Tickles,” he mumbled, stomach muscles jumping under her mouth as she moved lower, her dark hair trailing through his and pooling over his thighs.

She kissed the skin above the waistband of his jeans. Could feel the strain of him now through the material, the insistent pressure bowing upwards that she cupped her hand over. Arthur groaned, sinking back, and shoulders thudding against the wall. The scent of him grew thicker, and she undid the fastening of his jeans, excited fingers pulling down on the zip carefully so as to not catch him.

Elena had been with men before. Her pack was not so old fashioned as to describe a woman’s worth as only between her legs, so she had been allowed to love freely if she had so wished. She had known what it was to feel a man inside her, had even discovered what it was to find release, that strange floating moment of completion between two lovers that made two people become one. But this…this was _more_.

Arthur trusted her. She wouldn’t abuse that trust.

As she freed his arousal from the confines of his jeans, fingers wrapping around warm soft velvet flesh, there was a stutter of a moment, a harsh intake of breath where she sensed he had left her. His smell curdled, turned to burning smoke even as his length throbbed in her palm.

Elena waited, pressed more kisses against the skin of his stomach until his pine warm scent returned. The house settled around them, multitudes of eyes that Elena willed away gently as the crickets continued their chorus outside.

“Sorry,” he whispered above her, desperate in the dark. She shifted her other empty hand off his thigh and across the blankets, tangling with his.

“It’s me,” she said back, and she gazed up at him, fingers gentle around the length of him. “Only me.”

He was sweating, expression wrecked and eyes blown wide in the dim light.

“Only you,” he affirmed, and he exhaled as she squeezed him again. Their hands closely clasped together, he threaded the other into her hair as if to ground himself. “Elena-“

Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his, Elena ducked back down, taking the length of him into her mouth.

Arthur’s back bowed, his head falling back against the wall and baring the long line of his throat, his chest and stomach.

“ _Fuck!”_

His expletives made her _want_ , and Elena swallowed him down until he hit the back of her throat, half determined to devour him whole. She would burn away any and all who had been there before until there was only her, and her alone.

Elena had known a woman once, a saloon girl out in Armadillo who had told her about this act. Men would pay for the privilege she had said, as their wives would be too proper to do it. Elena didn’t much understand that, the strange prudishness that humans enforced on each other. Whore or wife, if there was love, then what did it matter?

Arthur was breathing heavily, and Elena worked her lips and tongue up and down the length of him, trying to balance the grip and suction in a way that would please him. The taste and smell of him was stronger here, but not unpleasant. It was him, and she buried herself in it, the slide of him between her lips, the steel flesh and shifting skin she curled her tongue around.

Soon his hips were jerking of their own volition, his hoarse voice whispering curses and praise as he drove into the back of her throat seeking the heat there, the bed creaking beneath them. Elena tucked Arthur’s knees under her elbows, trying to control the deeper burn and swallowing to avoid the gag. She wasn’t much used to this act, had to alternate between pulling him deep and pulling off to breathe and using her hand instead. Spit ran freely down her chin, sticky between her gliding fingers and his hot skin.

His hand squeezed hers to the point of pain, his fingers wound tight in her hair and pulling at her scalp.

“Elena,” he panted. “I’m gonna-you better-“

She hummed, the vibrations wringing a strangled moan from him. She hollowed her cheeks, glancing up at him from underneath her eyelashes. He tried to pull at her hair, to pull her off, and she grunted, merely wriggling closer and swallowing him deeper.

 _You’re mine,_ the dark possessive side of Elena growled at him. _You’re **mine**. _

It must have shown in her eyes, glowing brighter, because Arthur’s body went tense, his breath stuttering in his heaving chest, and his eyes flared in the dark too, pale and luminous. He pushed into her mouth, deep and hard, thighs spasming and fingers digging into her scalp. Elena held her breath, swallowing him down as heat splashed in her throat, relentless and choking.

She gagged, but held herself there, trying to pull in a breath through her nose. The fingers in her hair relaxed, and Arthur slumped, going boneless, panting in the quiet. Elena eased him out of her mouth, breathing hard, but smiling. She dared to lick him clean, and he watched her with hooded eyes.

“You…that…” he floundered for words, gave up and stroked her cheek, her jaw, rubbing a calloused thumb along her sensitive spit-slick lips. “You’re incredible.”

“You liked it then?”

He groaned, hauling her up by the shoulders. He bundled her onto the bed, leaning over her. The bed was only small, creaking alarmingly with the two of them on it. Arthur smiled crookedly at her, shirt and jeans gaping. Vulnerable and uncaring.

“ _Liked_ it? I’m pretty sure I saw God himself for a minute there.” 

Elena laughed, sliding her hands up his sides to fit over his ribs. Arthur bent and kissed her, uncaring of the taste of himself in her mouth. She kissed him hungrily, daringly tangling her tongue with his and arching her hips up against him. She ached, wanted to know the feel of him inside her, but knew it wouldn’t be tonight.

Arthur’s lips slid to her ear, his breath warm and tickling. “Can I…can I do that to you?”

Elena’s eyes fluttered shut at the imagery that evoked, trying to will her own arousal down. “Arthur, you don’t need to do anything. I just wanted to please you.”

Arthur’s wicked chuckle made her pulse lurch, the sweet smell of her own desire making her head spin.

“Oh you pleased me alright. And I can smell that you could do with some _pleasin’_ too.”

Elena gasped as he bit lightly at her ear, teeth just shy of sharp. She squirmed, slick and uncomfortable in her small clothes.

“Arthur,” she whimpered, trying to grind up against his thigh. Anything to alleviate the ache between her legs. “You don’t-“

“I wanna taste you,” he drawled in her ear, and his hands were warm as they stole under her blouse, swept up her stomach to palm her breasts. He rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger, teasing a moan and curse out of her as pleasure skittered up her veins, igniting her skin. “Bet you taste sweet, darlin’.”

She was going to shudder apart just listening to his voice. Elena gasped, and his lips moved to her neck, teeth just shy of biting. His hands left her breasts, swept down to her jeans, fingers dipping beneath the waistband. She was too tightly wound to let him whisper sweet nothings and tease like she had done to him. With a gentle push on his shoulders, Arthur leaned away, a question on his lips before he realized, watching as Elena undid her jeans with shaking fingers, shucking them down until they got caught on her knees. She growled in frustration, legs flailing, and Arthur laughed, helping her the rest of the way, peeling the jeans down her calves and feet as Elena hooked her thumbs under her small clothes and slid those off as well. Pulling the blouse over her head, she tossed that towards the pile, skin prickling at the cooler air in the room.

Bare and wanting, Elena let Arthur settle between her spread legs, his eyes glowing in the dark as he gazed down at her.

“I ‘aint-“ his voice was thick. He smoothed a hand down her thigh, and she whimpered, uncaring how she must look as she spread her legs wider. “Goddamn.”

She snagged his hand, pulling it between her legs. “Here,” she said shakily, and she gasped at the first touch of his fingers against her, the slick slide and burst of pleasure. “Oh God.”

It wouldn’t take long. She was wound up from pleasing him, and the heady teasing. Releasing his hand, she dragged him down for a desperate kiss, thrusting her hips harder against his questing hand.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers brushing across the bundle of nerves that made her see stars. Then down, through her slick and folds until they paused at the entrance to her sex, just shy of entering. She whined, feet tangled in the blanket as she tried to push up onto his fingers.

“ _Arthur!”_ she said desperately, growling as he avoided her lips for another kiss. His fingers were _right there,_ couldn’t he feel how much she wanted him? Needed him?

He chuckled at her, and Elena sighed as he kissed her breast, pulling a nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it so prettily it made her cry out.

“So wet,” he said again, and his fingers nearly entered her then, just shy. She bit out a dark curse, and his mouth moved lower, to her navel. “Wet for me.”

Elena’s hands flew to his head, caressing his cheek, his ears and scalp, anything she could reach.

“Only you,” she promised, and finally, _finally,_ a finger sank into her waiting heat. A second, and she opened around it easily, walls fluttering and pulling him in. It felt so good to have him inside her, even if it was just this, not-

She nearly howled as his mouth settled on her without warming, his warm breath tickling her inner thighs and lips. Elena panted into the shadows, eyes unseeing on the ceiling as he set to pleasing her, lips and tongue.

Inside her his fingers curled, and he pumped them lazily, like the whole night was theirs, and he would torture her until morning until she could take no more.

“Arthur,” she choked, back arching and nerves thrumming as he sucked and licked, the pressure of his mouth and fingers too much, too little-

His tongue dipped into her, alongside his fingers and she was gone, the wave of pleasure peaking and crashing over her in an ebbing tide that pushed and pulled. She knew she cried out, that others must have heard, but she didn’t care. Let them hear, and envy, that this was _hers_.

Her feral.

Her wolf.

Her Arthur.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys, you give me the warm fuzzies :) Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

Only the sentries were still awake, shifting distant figures in the dark Elena could see moving along the walls of the property and along the curve of the slow moving river. It had been hard to leave Arthur’s side, the warmth of his body wrapped around hers, but the need to relieve herself had driven her from their tiny bed, out into the night.

She’d not bothered to slip on her boots, tugging on Arthur’s oversized shirt only and padding across the old floorboards in bare feet. The night was cool on her bare legs, but she wasn’t uncomfortable as she left the house to find a quiet spot.

Fireflies danced out on the river, the cricket’s singing to their whirling tempo, and after she’d finished, Elena found herself at the river’s edge, watching their display.

A part of her was uneasy. As always, she’d gone running into something with her heart and not her head. There was no point in denying she was attached to Arthur, and more so than she had expected. There was more here than just lust, and her wolf snarled with it, possessive and jealous.

It scared her more than she’d admit.

“ _I see you._ ”

A voice snapped her around, a language she hadn’t heard for years that had her teeth sharpening with fear. In an instant she was a child again, quivering in the dark.

But it was just Charles. He held a rifle loosely in his hands, must have been on patrol and spotted her. Elena willed down the fear and panic. There was old blood running in his veins, of the People. It had been a greeting, once, used between their two worlds. An offer of peace.

“Your Mother teach you that?” she asked, breathing out slowly, trying to settle her heart that lurched and struggled inside her ribs.

Charles smelled of worry. He shrugged a shoulder, but didn’t move any closer to her. “She said it was an old greeting, that I’d know when to use it.”

Elena chuckled, rubbing her arms. Arthur’s shirt gave her comfort, the smell of him still on it. “I haven’t heard it for a while. Not many of the People remember it I suppose.”

Charles watched her intently. She tried to imagine what he might see, if he’d see the wolf face behind her own, glowing eyes and sharp teeth. Or perhaps he’d just see shadows coiled beneath her skin, constantly shifting.

“You know what I am?” she asked. No point in beating around the bush.

Charles frowned, and she could hear his grip tighten on the rifle, the metal creaking. “I…don’t know. I heard stories but…I thought they were just that.”

“Best if you continue thinking that, Charles. There's worse than me out there."

“Are you going to get Jack back?”

He was a straightforward man. She appreciated that. Elena motioned for him to join her, turning back towards the river and the fireflies. After a moment of hesitation, he joined her, boots whispering on the grass.

“I’m going to try,” she said honestly. “I’m here to help.”

“And Arthur?” he asked. The fireflies swayed close, lit his features in the dark. “Are you helping him?”

Elena watched the insects twirl and spin. “Yes.”

“Huh,” Charles said, and she could see a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. “So that’s what they call it these days.”

She laughed. Charles' scent eased into something less concerned, warmer. Arthur was dear to him, she knew. “I’m not ashamed. I care for Arthur a great deal.”

“Good. He needs someone to care.”

Elena turned to him then, wrapping her arms around herself. “Can you see Arthur like you see me?”

Charles shook his head. “We all know he’s different since Colm. Bill told us all one night after he’d been drinking, what they found. What Arthur did.”

The thought made her want to howl. That he had been forced to go through it alone, without a pack at his back. Without _her-_

“At first, we thought it was just Arthur,” Charles said, quieter. Another sentry moved further away, a lantern bobbing between the trees. “That once he healed, it would be alright again. Life as normal. But…there’s a sickness in the gang, not him. We’re falling apart.”

She could still smell the weakness in Dutch, the rot setting in. “Tell me.”

Charles sighed. “I don’t know how much longer we can keep going. Dutch’s schemes are getting wilder, we’ve got Pinkertons hunting us down, and all this with the Braithewaite’s…we should have never gotten involved. Something….something’s going to happen. I can feel it.”

She could too, she realized. Something looming just beyond the horizon, dark and terrible. It made her want to run, to flee back to her pack and the safety of family. It wasn’t too late, she still could. She didn’t owe these humans, divided and weak. She could take Ghost and leave, put this all behind her as she had left others before. Arthur would just be a pleasant memory like her other past lovers, moments to look back on fondly when the nights were long and cold.

The wolf snarled and snapped, clawing at her ribs at the very thought. She would follow him to whatever end and be glad for it, as long as he was beside her. Her feral. Her wolf.

 _Her_ Arthur.

Elena felt her body go cold, stomach curdling as she realized what that meant. What the wolf within her had done. Had probably done from the moment she’d found him covered in mud and confused. Had known after he ran down a cave full of Wendigo’s all over the worry she was in trouble and needed him. Had decided as she held him in the dark as he cried, ashamed and thinking himself unworthy.

She’d just been unwilling to _see_.

Her wolf hadn’t just claimed Arthur for a night. Hadn’t claimed him for a brief love affair for them to only then part ways as she moved onto the next adventure. Wolves were possessive creatures, her kind was always careful around matters of the heart, didn’t commit too deeply or too quickly. Was easier that way, for when a wolf truly _claimed…_

She knew her breath was coming in short gasps, that Charles had turned to her in alarm, hand outstretched. The fireflies arced through the darkness, dazzling lines that crisscrossed before her dazed eyes.

“Elena?”

Charles’ scent was laced with concern, his fingers warm where he touched her arm. She was trembling, knees wobbling dangerously.

 _You claimed him._ The thought bounced around her head, incredulous and angry. _You claimed him and you doomed him._

Charles was holding onto her more firmly now, practically propping her up. “Elena! What’s wrong?”

She’d not given Arthur the whole truth about her pack. About how and why her parents died. Poachers was an easier thing to blame.

_I see you._

A cruel smile in firelight.

_I see you._

The screams of her mother.

_I see you._

“Elena!”

A different voice, and it was like someone upended a bucket of cold water over her head. Elena shook herself, blinking the ghosts from her eyes. She was practically sagging in Charles arms, and he had turned desperately towards the voice, holding her out, the long grass trailing wetly against her bare legs.

Arthur strode towards them, jeans hastily pulled on but not buttoned. He was shirtless and barefoot, had clearly just run after her without bothering to get fully dressed. He’d be able to sense her distress, the unsettled twinge in his belly. _She had done that to him._

“I don’t know what happened,” Charles said worriedly, and Elena was passed between them, limbs numb and uncooperative. “She was fine then all of a sudden-“

Arthur hoisted her into his arms and she curled into his chest like a child, feeling fragile like spun glass. Emotions were swirling hotly behind her eyes.

“Hey,” Arthur’s voice was soft, and the kiss he pressed to her temple was so gentle she wanted to burst into tears. “What’s goin’ on?”

_I’m so sorry, Arthur._

Her voice wouldn’t come. She just clung tighter to him, jammed her face into the crook of his neck and huffed deep lungful’s of his scent, the comforting pine that helped calm the whirling storm in her chest.

A few more words were exchanged between the two men, and then Arthur was carrying her, her feet swaying in the air. He carried her back into the house with it's curious rotting walls that pressed in on them and up to their room, laying her down on the musty bed that still smelled like them both.

He didn’t try to make her talk, just wrapped her up in a blanket and held her close, her face still tucked into his neck. He murmured soft words to her, stroked her hair and cheeks, pressing small kisses to her forehead and nose.

Slowly, her muscles relaxed. The fear and panic that had gripped her, eased, made her arms go boneless and her breathing come easier. Arthur settled them both on their sides on the bed, curled tightly around each other. She could trust him. She did. She was safe.

Elena breathed out shakily. It had been years since she’d had an attack like that. She felt foolish all of a sudden, letting the past creep up on her like that.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I uh…don’t know what came over me.”

Arthur snorted delicately, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I can smell a lie, you know.”

Elena winced. How could she even begin to explain?

“I…I don’t-“

“It’s alright,” Arthur soothed her. “We’ll get Susan to get you your own bed in the mornin’. You don’t have to stay.”

She blinked at him, the dread beginning to ice over her heart again. Did he…had she displeased him?

“I owe you a lot,” Arthur continued. “But you don’t owe me shit, Elena. If I…if I made you feel…forced, or…or like you couldn’t-“

The growl had bubbled out of her before she could comprehend what he was saying, her hand thudding onto his chest, palm over his heart and fingers curling into his skin like she could reach through his ribs and pluck out his very being and hoard it jealously from outside eyes.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” she said firmly, pulling on her wolf for strength. “Arthur, you don’t owe me anything. You… _fuck_.”

He watched her carefully in the dark, eyes searching her face. “Talk t’ me.”

Elena sighed, reaching over to touch his cheek, running her finger through his beard. “I’ve not told you much about Weres and how we love. I’m sorry. I wasn’t…I wasn’t expecting to have to have that kind of talk so soon.”

“So tell me.”

“It’s not…simple.”

“I’m gatherin’ that. Tell me.”

Elena breathed deeply, inhaling his scent again. “I told you we take lovers like humans. That’s true. But we also take mates, partners for life. It’s…for _life_ , Arthur.”

“Okay.”

“And I…” she growled again, slapping a hand onto the bed in frustration. How could she be so _stupid?_ “I’m sorry, Arthur. I should’ve known better. I _do_ know better. I…care about you. A lot. I know we don’t know each other very well, but my wolf has decided that’s it. You’re it. It’s claimed you, and I…I’m so sorry.”

She could feel the hysteria rising again and she clamped it down, ground her teeth together and battled through. Arthur needed an explanation. _Deserved_ an explanation.

“It doesn’t have to be permanent," she said desperately as he stayed quiet. "An unanswered claim will eventually dissipate, but it might make you feel things. Like…a tether I guess. Between us.”

He was staring at her, his pale eyes focused and intense. “You sayin’…you’ve claimed me? For life?”

She cringed, tried to wiggle away from him. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t even realize it. I wouldn’t have…I'd never...been physical with you, otherwise.”

Hurt flickered in his gaze. “You…don’t want it? The claim?”

She stopped her wiggling. “A claim is a bond for life. It’s not exactly something that should be done on a whim, and should be consented to. I…I’ve just…forced one between us. On _you.”_

Elena swallowed, shame slithering up her spine. “I’m…no better than the O’Driscolls.”

He snarled at her, eyes flashing, and his hands jerked to her shoulders, pinning her to the bed, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise. “You ‘ _aint_ anythin’ like ‘em. Don’t you ever say that again.”

Anger then, bubbling up, and she snapped at him, teeth flashing as she pushed against him. “Aren’t I? Arthur, you should have a _choice!_ I'm supposed to teach you our ways, not trap you in them!"

She licked her lips nervously, and he zeroed in on the motion. "My...my parents were bonded. When my father died, my mother did too. That’s what a claim is. It’s not death do us part, it’s death to us _both_.”

They stared at each other, both breathing hard into the dark.

“What happens if I claim you back?” Arthur said lowly, voice dangerous. “If I’m yours, then what happens if I make you _mine?”_

She whined, low and unhappy. She wanted it, damn her. She wanted it all.

“I’ll never take another,” she whispered, pulse hammering in her throat as his eyes only darkened. “You’d be my only man. In the eyes of the human world, I’d be your wife, in the eyes of our world, I’d be your mate. I’d bear your pups and we’d grow our own pack. If you die, I’d be not long after.”

Arthur nodded slowly. "So that's what you done to me? I can't take no other woman but you?"

She quivered under him, sweat beading on her skin. "I...it's...not a true claim, if we ignore it-"

"Cause I ‘aint hearin’ a downside to this.”

She stared up at him, rattled. “Arthur-“

He shook his head sharply at her, and she fell silent. “I ‘aint a young man no more. I seen more death than I should, and caused even more. Were a time I thought I deserved every bad thing that I got, sometimes still do. I ‘aint a good man. But you make me wanna be.”

Shocked, she stared up at him, words failing her. Arthur’s eyes softened as he looked down at her, hands easing on her shoulders.

“You see somethin’ in me you think is worth savin’. I look at you, and wanna be the man who’s worth _you.”_

He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing along her cheekbone. “You wanna claim me? You go right on ahead. I don’t need a claim to know I ‘aint gonna be with another woman. That I want you, that I wanna make you happy.”

The wolf inside her sighed and relaxed, stretching it’s limbs beneath her skin and settling contentedly. Elena tried to put up a token of resistance, for logic to prevail.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You’d be bound to me. Forever. You…hardly know me!”

“Then we got forever to figure each other out,” Arthur pulled back a little, smiling. “I know you're a good woman. A kind woman. Beautiful inside and out.”

Elena didn’t know why she was fighting it so hard. He wanted her. She wanted him. Why did she have to make it any more complicated than it was? Her muscles relaxed, body going languid. “You're serious.”

“I’m yours," he said quietly. "Been for a while, I think.”

He bent, kissing her. She pushed up into him, framing his face with her hands as she kissed him back, desperate and hungry. He chuckled, licking the line of her lips, his beard scratching against her chin and cheeks.

They kissed, legs tangling together. There was so much more she needed to say, things he needed to know. About her, bout Weres. He’d have to claim her back to undergo a true bonding and the thought excited her, made her want and ache. It was enough to drive away the fear- the ghosts of an old life that she hadn’t realized she’d been running from.

For now, this was enough. The two of them.

Together.

* * *

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, rain whispering on the wind. It was a good sign, the withered crops of the fields were dry and parched, desperately needing a drink. If the rains came then more lives would be saved, death staved off for just a little longer. He’d ridden through Armadillo only the day before and had seen the sunken cheeked children, hiding from the blazing sun in the cooler shade of the buildings. Their swollen tongues coated with dust, their bellies empty and pinching.

It was a sad place to call home.

Anton Vasquez peered out into the grumbling dark, frowning. They’d rented a small patch of land from a local farmer, the shack on it just about big enough to house their dwindling family. He sat on a rickety chair on the porch, long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles as he watched the oncoming storm on the horizon.

Inside, he could hear the pups snoring. Elijah’s sawing drone was the loudest, and even out here Anton could imagine him, the big man rolled on his back and mouth fallen open. Another few snores, and there was a snapped curse, the sound of a punch as Diego lost his patience with his brother and threw something at him.

Anton shifted on the chair. His gut sat heavy, unsettled and nervous. They’d been guarding a sheep flock only the day before, him, Elijah, Diego and Matthew, when it'd started. The few left of what he could call his pack.

He couldn’t blame them. Young ones wanting to go out and make something of themselves. Sarah had been one of the first, she’d fallen in love with a local up in Hannigan’s Stead, and gone off to marry him. Anton had given her his blessing, what else could he do? He had always known it would come one day, that the pups he had fought so hard to look after and teach would go their own ways.

Anton sighed, slumping further in the chair. “So why so uneasy, old man?” He muttered to himself. Couldn't shake it, the heavy unease in his belly. 

Feet scuffed in the doorway behind him. “Uncle?”

It was Matthew. The pup yawned, stretching. He’d filled out in recent years, arms starting to pull at the seams in his shirts, might eventually grow bigger than Elijah, but he had years yet. He was the youngest, at eighteen.

Anton smiled, gesturing him over. “Join me, pup. Sleep ‘aint comin’ easy to me tonight.”

Unlike the rest of them, Matthew was fair haired and blue eyed, a dimple in one cheek. The women had started noticing him more lately, his looks and his easy going nature. Anton had picked him up in some shitty town near Saint Denis years ago, when the pup was barely seven. Anton wondered if any of them remembered their lives, before.

Matthew grunted as he sank down on the chair opposite his Uncle. He scratched at his chin, the beginnings of a blond beard starting to grow in. “Somethin’ you wanna talk about?”

Anton sighed, turning his dark eyes back towards the horizon. “Storm brewin’.”

“Can see that,” Matthew yawned again, rolling his shoulders. “But it ‘aint the storm you’re worried ‘bout.”

Anton huffed a laugh. Nights were cold in the desert, his breath curled away from him like smoke from a cigarette. “You always did notice more than your block head brothers.”

Eiljah’s snoring kicked up again. Diego might smother him.

Matthew slung his arm over the back of the chair, looking at Anton directly. “It’s Elena, ‘aint it? You’re out here frettin’.”

Was he that transparent? Anton slumped, rubbing his eyes. “We ‘aint heard from her. Not since her last letter that she’d passed Strawberry. ‘Aint like her.”

“So?” Matthew shrugged a shoulder. “She’s off huntin’ Wendigos and bein’ wild. She’ll come trottin’ back in a month with a pocket full of cash and a big ol’ shit eatin’ grin. She always does.”

“Was talkin’ to the Sheriff this mornin’,” Anton said carefully. “He mentioned somethin’ ‘bout Pinkertons bein’ called out over that Blackwater shoot up.”

Matthew’s easy sprawl stiffened. Slowly he straightened, fingers tapping nervously on his thighs. “That so?”

Anton watched the horizon. Lightning flashed in the distance, white streaks that lit up the desert scrubland. “Said he met one, when they passed through. Ross somethin’ or another.”

A coyote yipped in the dark. Anton listened to it move through the brush, in search of others.

Matthew’s knee jumped, his leg bouncing. “It don’t mean nothin’. There’s loads of Pinkertons. It don’t mean-“

“You know damn well what I mean. He’s out there, Matthew. He’s out there, and Elena is too. I’m worried.”

Matthew hadn’t been with them when it happened. Had probably just been a gleam in his deadbeat daddy’s eye, hadn’t lived through it. Only Elijah and Diego were left who had, could remember the running, the pain and the horror.

“She’s got friends,” Matthew said lowly. “She ‘aint alone out there. The Olsen’s are out past Valentine. They can-“

“They died last year,” Anton said bluntly. “Local preacher proclaimed it black magic when the youngest boy lost control and shifted during Sunday mass. They hunted them down like dogs, and strung ‘em up in the rafters of their own goddamn house. The baby-”

Anton trailed off. Some horrors weren’t worth retelling.

Matthew sat back in the chair, stunned. “How you know that? You didn’t say nothin’ when-”

“What could I say? That we’re all dyin’?” Anton shot back. He shook his head, bone weary. “I saw ‘em myself when I took the rams through for sellin’ last Spring. Barely a handful of us left, Matthew. Another few years, and our kind will be gone. That’s the bare truth o’ it. I thought…I wanted to protect you all from it. Let you live your lives.”

He gestured to the shadowed desert beyond the porch. “Behold, your Eden.”

Matthew shuddered. “You ‘aint makin’ sense, Uncle.”

Anton felt old. Like his skin was paper thin, stretched too tightly over brittle bones. He were fifty-three, a mighty fine respectable age, and likely had another fifty before him. Weres could be long lived. He scratched at his beard, pulled at the white and grey hairs that he knew were there.

“’M sorry,” he sighed, reaching over to clap a hand on Matthew’s knee. “I ‘aint much company tonight. Too many dark thoughts.”

The young wolf frowned at him. “And I ‘aint a goddamn fool. You wanna go out there after ‘er, don’t you? Just as we get somethin’ good goin’ here.”

Lord but these pups sometimes sounded just like someone else. A wolf long gone that Anton had called brother.

“I…’aint decided yet,” Anton admitted. “It’s just a feelin’. I don’t-“

“I can get the horses saddled ‘fore dawn,” a voice boomed behind him, Matthew jerking and nearly coming off his chair. Affection burst hot and strong in Anton’s chest, and he turned, smiling.

Elijah stood square in the doorway, blinking sleep from his eyes. He was tall and broad, an intimidating sight that had made the local farmers eager to sign them on as hired guns to scare off bandits. Elijah Vasquez looked like trouble, from the wicked scar cleaving through his left eye and down his cheek, to his thick tattooed arms and the shotgun he always favored. Elijah crossed his arms, glaring over at Matthew. He'd shorn his hair short, made him look more wicked than he was.

“If Uncle says we go after Elena, we go,” he said bluntly, always dutiful to a fault.

Behind him Diego trailed, rubbing an eye and squinting at them both, long hair tousled in a crazy mess. Smaller than his brother, thin and wiry, the runt of the pack and almost a decade younger. Anton couldn’t even remember how old they were. Thirty five? Forty? Jesus. 

“Little sister get herself into trouble again?” Diego yawned, flashing white canines. Technically, they were cousins, but all the pups considered each other siblings, and Anton didn’t have the heart to correct them. Didn’t matter anyways, whatever family secrets there had once been. Anton was the only one left to know, and he’d take them to the grave.

“Uncle has a feelin’,” Matthew said. Always the sceptic, their Matthew. The logical one. Vasquez men often got themselves in trouble with their hot heads, and Anton thanked the Lord Matthew had a cooler disposition.

Most of the time.

“And his feelin’s are always right,” Elijah shot back. “Saved our skins more often than not.”

Diego leaned against the doorway, peering out into the night. “What your feelin’s sayin’?”

Anton stood, legs restless. His knees creaked, and he winced, taking a few steps back and forth to loosen his joints.

“They’re sayin’ trouble’s comin’. Sheriff told me about Pinkertons huntin’ some gang over in the East. One called Ross came through and mentioned they’d been hired by that railway fella. Cornwall.”

Elijah snorted, crossing his arms. “Heard of ‘im from one of the foreman’s. Rich bastard buyin’ up all the land.”

Diego’s eyes narrowed, quicker on the thought than his brother. “Pinkertons. Sheriff mention-“

“Not by name,” Anton said quickly. “But I know he’s out there. Can feel it.”

Unease in all their scents then, old fear and anger rising to the surface. Elijah growled, amber eyes flaring in the dark. His left eye would always be paler than the other, the sight not gone, but not what it had once been.

“Then I say we go get little sister, make sure she’s safe, then go hunt the goddamn bastard down. How long we been runnin’, lookin’ over our shoulders? Let’s kill the fucker and be done with it all.”

“’Cause that went so well when you and Paul tried it!” Matthew spat, getting to his feet. His Vasquez temper was showing after all. Elijah scowled, hand drifting self-consciously towards his scarred face, and Matthew jabbed an accusing finger at him. “Why don’t we ask Paul- oh that’s right. He’s _dead.”_

Anton reached out, placing a calming hand on Matthew’s heaving chest. He wished Sarah was still with them, the girl always had the calm touch when the boys started brawling. “Easy. What’s done is done, and weren’t no-one to blame for Paul but that Pinkerton bastard.”

Not for the first time, Anton wondered if he’d done enough. Their pack was steeped in death and despair- he’d done his best as a younger man to keep them together, keep them safe. But a life running wasn’t much of a life. Couldn’t blame the younger ones when they left to search out their own happiness. Maybe he should have fought harder, done more.

Diego leaned up to clap a hand on Elijah’s shoulder. “I’m with Eli. Let’s go pull Elena outta whatever trouble she’s gotten herself into. We can worry about Pinkertons after.”

Matthew scowled, still a young lad always overruled by his older brothers. “Don’t I get a say?”

“Sure,” Diego said cheerily, leaning and snagging Matthew’s arm. “You can _say_ all you want once we’re all saddled up and leaving this dusty shithole behind us. Come on, Matti. Come help me pack.”

Matthew squawked at the old childhood name, only half-heartedly struggling as Diego pulled him inside, past a frowning Elijah.

“I ‘aint _Matti,_ no more Diego! I’m a man grown, not some grubby pup cryin’ over skinned knees!”

“Coulda fooled me. _Matti.”_

Anton shook his head as their bickering faded, moving away further into the house. “You can stay here. I can go alone.”

Elijah shook his head, looking past his Uncle towards the flashes on the horizon. “No goddamn chance. There’s a storm comin’ Uncle. You always said we can only survive together.”

Anton smiled weakly. “Didn’t think you listened to me much, Eli.”

“I listened plenty. Didn’t follow, mind. But listened.”

Anton laughed, and he was thankful, so very thankful for his small loyal pack.

“Should we tell the others?” Elijah asked, shifting aside so Anton could duck back into the shack. It was only three rooms, a living space, a pantry and one bedroom they all shared, sleeping head to foot. But it had been their home for the past few months, and with a pang, he realized he’d miss it. “They might be able to help.”

Anton shook his head, already thinking of the supplies they’d need to pick up. “No. Let them be with their families. Ben’s got pups on the way, and Viv’s got her hands full with the twins and Lewis. Sarah’s settled and last I heard, Laura was out East and settin’ to marry a writer. They’re happy and safe. Let ‘em stay that way.”

Elijah nodded, grabbing his gun belt from a hook by the door. “Alright. Any idea where we should start?”

“She said she was gonna head to Valentine after she got the Wendigo,” Anton said, crossing to the table he’d been using as a desk. There were letters there, and he rifled through to find Elena’s, her sprawling scroll. “Knowin’ her, she’ll probably then head down to Lemoyne to try and sell it. Them Night Folk go mad for that stuff.”

Elijah made a face. “Damn swamp bastards. As long as she ‘aint goin’ into Saint Denis. Hate that fuckin’ place. Stinks o’ blood drinkers.”

Anton snorted, grabbing Elena’s letter and stuffing it into a satchel hanging on the back of a chair. “Pretty sure I remember somethin’ ‘bout a brawl ‘tween you and the Master’s daughter in a saloon? Somethin’ ‘bout not bein’ allowed back on pain o’ death?”

Elijah scowled, crossing his arms sullenly. “How was I to know that lil’ bedwarmer were hers? Weren’t like he said anythin’. Course, hard to say much with my cock in his-“

Diego blessedly interrupted, tossing a bed roll at his brother and narrowly missing hitting him in the face. Elijah floundered, grabbing at the bedroll and glaring.

“How ‘bout you leave the women to me this time?” Diego laughed. He fluttered his eyelashes, puckering up his lips as if for a dramatic kiss. “If you can keep your hands off their men long enough that is.”

Anton sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens as Elijah snapped an insult, tossing the bedroll back. The unease that had settled in his belly had eased, warmed by the comfort of his pack around him. Still there, but bearable now.

 _Be safe, Elena._ He thought. _We’ll come find you._

_Be safe._

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys. You're so amazing for reading, you're seriously keeping me going <3

* * *

Saint Denis was still a stinking shithole clogged with smoke and ash.

Arthur wrinkled his nose and tried not to breathe too deeply. The belching chimneys, the stench of the perfumed folk and horses, gunpowder and sewage and just… _everything._

They’d left camp early, before the others were awake. Had been hard to let Elena go in the grey light of morning, her skin warm with his own body heat and curled up beside him in his shirt. Smelling like him. They’d not bothered with a meal, just gotten dressed and the horses saddled, riding out before the camp could rise and ridden down through the swamp until they hit the bridge and followed the path into the city.

Elena was jittery, twitchy as they got into town, her hands clenching Ghost’s reigns tight. He’d had to lean over and take them in his, pressed a kiss to her knuckles in a show of gallantry and she’d laughed then, graced him with a smile.

Arthur couldn’t quite get his head round it. She wanted him. Claimed him.

He thought she’d regretted it, their intimacy. He’d had a moment where her touch had taken him back to the cell with Colm, his dead face leering at Arthur from the shadows. Could taste the blood and sweat like he was still there. But she’d coaxed him back, had been patient with him. ‘Aint no-one ever bothered to please him like that, take care of him. Seemed too good to be true, so when he’d felt the wave of panic in his chest and woken up without her, bed cold and empty, he’d thought that’d been it. She’d left. Gone in the night like Mary had, him ruinin’ another good thing.

But she hadn’t. Said she’d claimed him, something Were’s did. Practically a marriage, and she’d stunk of shame and regret when she’d spoken to him, so much he’d thought she hadn’t meant it, was an accident and she didn’t want that with him.

She did though. She wanted him.

Was hard to keep a damn smile off his face.

Had to remember they had a job to do, that Jack needed them. Were enough to settle him back down, ease the excited fluttering in his belly. They rode past the big sprawling mansions, past the center and towards the slums, the smaller rickety shacks where the factory workers lived. Carriages rolled by, blinkered horses stepping high across the clacking cobblestones.

Arthur pulled Valkyrie alongside Ghost, the mare tossing her head and huffing. “So what we lookin’ for exactly?”

Elena scanned the people around them, studying the brightly colored dresses and suits. “We’re looking for a familiar.”

Elena had told him briefly about it on the ride down. Vampires. Bloodsuckers that burned in the daylight, had to hunt under the cover of dark. There was a coven in Saint Denis she said, a group of them headed up by one Master, and it was this Master they needed to speak to. Sounded like a story stepped right outta one of Jack’s books.

The Wendigo head was safely wrapped and stowed on Elena’s saddle. It was beginning to stink, he could smell it even through the oil cloth, so they needed to find this Master fella, and soon.

Arthur frowned at the people milling past them. “What do they look like?”

Elena chuckled. “Well they’re human. But they smell different, have a kind of…shifty look. You’ll know it when you see it.”

He doubted that. Could barely tease apart the different smells that settled around him, but he tried.

Elena pulled Ghost to the right, down a quieter street. “Let’s tether the horses and try on foot.”

Cobblestone gave way to packed dirt, and they tethered the horses outside a run-down bar, already several patrons slumped face first on the splintering tables set outside. Elena fished the Wendigo head out from the bedroll, setting inside a smaller leather pack she slung over her shoulder.

Arthur didn’t get so much as a second glance as they moved down the street, but Elena did. The suffragette movement may be in full swing, but a woman in jeans wasn’t a common sight. She’d slipped on a plain white blouse, her hair pulled back in a braid. It was plain enough, but she drew more looks than the flowery ladies dressed in their finery. Arthur curled his lip at a few and the glances slid away.

He kept a pistol on his belt but left the rifle with Valkyrie, not wanting to draw too much attention. Side by side they swept the back roads, Arthur letting Elena lead. They followed the path down, towards the market square Arthur had been to once or twice. Had only been to sell a few pelts to the trapper, but he’d seen other things for sale, exotic cloths from the port, spices and produce.

Elena snagged his arm, looping her arm through his as they came up to the brick wall surrounding the market. She dipped her head to a passing couple, and settled in close beside him, her voice low.

“We’re being followed.”

Arthur kept his eyes forward, trying to filter through the sounds and smells. More people were on the road now, milling around outside the entrance to the market. “That didn’t take long. Barely been ‘ere for a minute.”

Elena sniffed the air, eyes flashing bright gold. “Guess we were noticed riding in.”

“How you wanna handle ‘em?”

“We’ll lose them in the market. Come on!”

She tugged him into a jog, swinging to the left and through the gate into the courtyard. Was busy for the time o’ day, and quickly they were lost in the crowd of bodies and shouting of stall owners toting the daily sales.

Arthur tried to scan the sea of faces but couldn’t see anything. Too many scents to try and narrow it down, too many bodies. Elena pulled him through the throng of people, and Arthur tried to pull his shoulders in, to avoid bumping anyone.

There was a shout behind them, the sound of a flurry of movement, and Elena plunged forward, past the stalls and down an alley. “Arthur, this way!”

He ran after her, their boots loud on the cobblestone path as the walls pressed in close around them. A few doorways here, some women hanging out laundry. For a moment Arthur was worried, old fear and adrenaline starting to rise as he prepped himself for a fight. But Elena was laughing, looking over her shoulder, hair starting to come undone from its braid, pack bouncing on her back.

“That the best you can do?” she hollered over Arthur’s head, back towards whoever came after them. Arthur could hear boots now, pounding on stone. “Pathetic!”

He could hear panting, bitten off curses behind them. Before he could risk a look, Elena surged forward, using her momentum to leap up against one brick wall and launch herself upwards, arm outstretched.

She caught the black railing of someone’s balcony, hauling herself up to fit her boots between the iron bars. She hung there, leaning backwards, holding her hand out to him. “Arthur!”

He copied what she had done without thinking. Weren’t something he’d been able to do before, but it felt easy now, pushing off the wall and leaping _up._ Caught her hand in his, and she hauled him up onto the ledge with her with barely any effort.

Then she was moving again, hauling herself up onto the railing itself to balance precariously, eyeing up the balcony above. Louder voices now, and Arthur glanced down to see three men watching them. One nudged another, and together they ducked down another alleyway, no doubt to see if they could head them off.

They didn’t seem surprised by Elena’s climbing.

“Come on!”

Elena was above him now, already on the second balcony. Arthur craned his neck up, watched her balance easily like a cat. “Where the hell you think you’re goin’?”

“To the rooftops!” she laughed. “The goons never could keep up once I got up there.”

Arthur got up to the second balcony with a lot less grace than her. “You done this before then?”

Elena grinned down at him mischievously. “Once or twice. Like to keep them on their toes.”

Together they clambered up the balconies one by one, startling a woman feeding her baby and an old man reading a paper. Elena got to the roof before he did, offered him a hand up which he accepted gratefully. He may be able to do things he couldn’t before, but balance still took _practice._

Up on the roof, an endless sea of slat and chimneys stretched. He could see the church in the center, pillars large and imposing, as they glared out across the city towards the factories. Black smoke spewed from those, acid and hot- enough to make his nose hurt even at the distance. Looked like a spreading bruise against the otherwise blue sky, and the wheeling white shapes of the birds avoided it, sticking closer to the houses of the city.

“What now?” he asked. He hesitated a moment, not sure if it would be welcome, but decided to try anyways, sliding his arm across her back, fitting his hand to her hip. She leaned into him and Arthur sighed, chest loose and happy.

“I forgot how _big_ it is,” Elena said, voice wistful. “I used to clamber up and down the drainpipes all over the market district as a kid, but the factories weren’t as big as they are now. Lot more slums too.”

That got his attention. “You grew up here?”

Elena shook her head, eyes still on the horizon. “Only for a time. Did some schooling here for a while. Uncle thought I should be a _lady._ ”

She laughed, tucking the wild strands of hair behind her ear. “You can see how that worked out.”

Arthur wanted to know more. What she had been like, what had brought her here. Could imagine a wild yellow eyed child climbing along the rooftops, laughing and her voice howling on the wind.

“ _Vasquez!”_ A voice barked, startling them apart. “You goddamn wolf-bitch!”

A door had opened on the opposite building roof, the three men spilling out in a tangle of sweaty curses. The one who had spoken jabbed a finger in their direction, dark eyes furious. Probably close to Dutch’s age by the look of it, his dark hair slicked back with pomade and greying at the temples. A neat moustache twitched angrily beneath his nose.

Elena waved cheerfully across the distance between their two roofs. “And a good morning to you too, Yates! Still as social as ever I see.”

The man, Yates, sniffed pompously, tugging down his fraying waistcoat. All three were dressed in shirts and vests, trying to look high class, but clearly more suited to running in back alleys.

“Thought you were told not to show your mongrel face ‘round ‘ere,” Yates sneered. “After the Master-“

“You told _Elijah_ not to show his face around here,” Elena said sweetly, but there was danger in her words, her tone sharpening. The other two men smelled nervous. “Hardly my fault who he sleeps with, now is it?”

Yates crossed to the edge of the roof, the small concrete wall edging the open space. “Master said no Weres within city limits. You know the rules.”

Elena shrugged her shoulder, the pack moving with it. “Thought they were more like guidelines.”

Arthur was noticed for the first time, and Yates squinted at him suspiciously. “The fuck are you?”

Weren’t that a question. Arthur stared back at him cooly. “Along for the ride, I guess.”

Yates snorted. “Most who try to run with Vasquez end up dead, stranger. Mark my words, the bitch is trouble.”

“Not that this little catch up isn’t _lovely,_ ” Elena interrupted, and Arthur could smell the irritation on her, the anger beginning to bubble. “But we need to see the Master. And you three idiots aren’t going to stop us.”

“Like hell you are!” Yates blustered, and the other two were fumbling for their guns now. “You ‘aint-“

Elena’s hand slid into his. “Ready?”

Arthur dragged his angry gaze from the three men to look at her, confused. “For?”

She was grinning again, eyes sparkling. “To fly.”

She pulled him with her, hand holding onto his tightly as she ran across the roof, down the slope and straight for the edge.

“Vasquez!” Yates shouted. “Don’t you fuckin’-“

Arthur would follow her anywhere. He knew that, the thought settled into his bones without much thought, but there was still fear as she hit the edge of the roof, body coiling down to leap, the slats under her boots creaking.

Arthur copied her, trusting her to know what the hell she was doing.

“Now!” she whooped, and blindly, Arthur jumped with her, air whistling past his ears as they plunged off the edge, towards the other lower roof that came up rapidly to greet them. He braced himself for pain, for something to snap at the drop, but they both landed easily, the shock absorbed easily up his leg bones that had automatically strengthened just for impact.

He blinked stupidly, hand still in Elena’s, looking back towards the gap they had just cleared. “What the-“

She squeezed his hand, fingers slipping from his. “Let me show you what Weres can do.”

She set the pace, an easy run he could keep up with, even as unsteady as he was on his feet. She made it look easy, running across concrete and roof slats both, boots thudding across and then _leaping_ off the edge, trusting nature and instinct to handle the rest. Landed on the next roof, using her hands to grasp onto gutters and drains to pull herself up if the gap was too wide.

After the first few stomach dropping plunges, Arthur could keep up with her, understood when to brace and when to jump, to trust his body and her. Weren’t long until they were both laughing and hollering, racing each other across the rooftops. No-one was up there to see, and they leapt across alleyways, the people below small like insects. Arthur could feel the breeze in his face, the scents from below muted. The city was still noisy around them, clacking along like a giant living machine, but up here, in the clouds with her, it was peaceful. Beautiful even.

“We lost ‘em you think?” Arthur panted, both of them stopping. They were closer to the church now, on the rooftops overlooking the higher end market and shops towards the center.

“For now,” Elena wheezed. “Didn’t realize Yates was still kicking, to be honest. Hated him as a girl, hate him now.”

“Know each other then?”

Elena caught her breath, straightening. “If you could call it that. Yates has been a familiar probably his whole miserable life. His daddy served the Master, his daddy’s daddy…you get the idea.”

There was so much Arthur didn’t know about this world. It both excited him, and made him goddamn nervous. Different world, different rules.

“So what now? Thought we needed a familiar to find the Master?”

“I just needed to know which Master it was, first,” Elena looked out towards the church. The stained glass winked at them in the sunlight, beckoning them towards salvation. Arthur studiously ignored it. “Vampire politics are even stranger than human ones. Luckily if Yates is still serving, then not much has changed.”

“Good news for us then?”

“Well good as any. Word’s probably already made it back that I’m in town. They’ll be expecting us.”

Arthur frowned, unease heavy in his gut. “Wait this…we ‘aint puttin’ you in danger are we? These vampires- if it’s dangerous, then I want no part o’ it. We’ll figure Bronte out on our own.”

Elena chuckled, turning and padding back to him. She leaned up on her toes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I appreciate the concern. They won’t hurt me, I promise. There’s just…a lot of history. Some bad feelings. Some good. I don’t know which reception we’ll get.”

He’d kill them all if he had to. The emotion bubbled up his throat, the wolf snapping furiously. Arthur cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently under her eye, smudging away some soot. “You don’t gotta do this. We can figure it out.”

“I know. I want to.” She nuzzled into his hand, her breath warm as it puffed against the inside of his wrist. “It’s safest for Jack, Bronte wouldn’t dare do anything to disobey the vampires. Not if he wanted to live. Trust me.”

“I do. Always.”

Her breath caught, a little gasp as she gazed up at him. She said there’d be a tether between them, something she put there when she’d claimed him. He thought he could feel it, when he concentrated enough. A thrum under his skin, the feeling that she was _there._

He kissed her again, just ‘cause he could. Tried to memorize the feeling of her, the press and pull of her lips, the shape of them.

He’d loved Mary. He knew that. But this, what he had started with Elena…it felt…different. If he were a more romantic man he’d be singing it from the rooftops, proclaiming it love and whisking her off to a preacher to make it official. That’s how sure he was.

But Arthur weren’t romantic. He were just a bitter old gun for hire, broken in ways he couldn’t define and trying to put himself back together piece by piece. He weren’t good. Weren’t nice, even. But she looked at him like he was, like there was more to him than that, and he _believed her._

She wanted forever. He wanted that too.

“Let’s get the horses,” she murmured, pulling away to look back out over the endless sprawling city. “If we can avoid Yates and his lackeys, I know where we need to go.”

* * *

Valkyrie was all too happy to see Arthur, nosing at him as he got back up into her saddle. Arthur patted the Appaloosa’s neck fondly, Elena leading the way on Ghost back through the streets. The chase across the rooftops had burned up some of the day, would be evening soon enough. The trolleys slid past, bells dinging, the horses snorting suspiciously at the moving hunks of metal. They moved down the nicer streets, where the houses were more mansions, small castles of the elite upper class. Elena drew them up outside the ornate gates of one- a white plantation style house with trimmed hedges and stretched gardens.

“Don’t look much like a vampire coven,” Arthur mused, sliding down to the swept clean paving. “More like oil rich Southerners.”

Elena was nervous again, it hit his nose like burnt sugar. She clutched the Wendigo pack to her front like she could hide behind it as she stared out towards the house. “They’ve got fingers dipped in oil somewhere, I’m pretty sure.”

“Hey,” Arthur cinched Valkyrie’s reins, snagged Ghost's as well before he could lumber off in search of grass. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We do,” Elena said firmly, and she shook herself. “I’m fine. Just been a long time.”

Ghost grumbled at him as Arthur got him tied up next to Valkyrie, but changed his tune as Arthur fished a sugar cube out of his satchel, offering it in peace.

Elena swallowed, swinging the pack back onto her shoulder. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

To Arthur’s surprise, she searched out his hand, intertwining their fingers. He squeezed, offering her whatever comfort her could. Elena’d said they couldn't take weapons, so his gun-belt was stashed away with the rest of his pack, but he had a revolver jammed down the back of his jeans just in case, just as he knew she had a knife strapped to her ankle inside her boot.

The gates weren’t locked, and there weren’t a guard in sight as they pushed the squeaking metal open. Now he was up and looking at it he could see tiny gargoyles mounted at the top of the gate posts, tiny winged demons that seemed to follow them with their eyes as they slowly walked through.

Their boots crunched on the gravel path leading up to the porch, everything so carefully prim and proper, Arthur had to wonder just how many servants this house had to have to keep it that way. The front door opened, and an honest to God _butler_ stood there, clad in black silk and starched white linen. Older man, with grey hair, and spectacles perched at the end of his nose.

“Madam,” he said, stiffly formal. “You look well.”

Elena smiled weakly, swaying in a little closer to Arthur’s side. Made him want to bare his teeth and growl, but she’d warned him about manners. Vampires were formal creatures.

“Parker. Still here I see.”

The man sniffed. “Always, Marm. This way, if you please.”

Arthur was barely given a second glance.

The inside of the house was as grandiose as he had imagined- polished marble and expensive looking dark wood floors that were so waxed he could see himself in them. Tapestries and paintings on every which wall, and dying flowers in vases. The air was thick with a sweet metallic smell, sickly and strange. Arthur breathed through his mouth and tried not to touch anything.

They were ushered into a parlor room, with rich red velvet chairs and heavy drapes pulled tight across the vast windows. The carpet was a patterned black and gold, and even just looking at the room Arthur felt like he should pay for the privilege.

Elena didn’t seem to harbor the same thoughts, she groaned unhappily, dumping the Wendigo head on the mahogany desk that dominated one half of the room and scattering several papers. Arthur thought he might have heard a squelch.

“Isn’t it ghastly?” she asked, rubbing her arms as if cold. The ceiling was tall, a glass chandelier in the center of the room and the biggest fireplace Arthur’d ever seen set into the opposite wall to the desk. A huge portrait stretched above it, depicting a stern faced family dressed in clothes so fine people probably died making them.

An older woman was at the center, decked in black and gold. Her hair was greying, but there was a youthful beauty to her face, her skin pale against the warm background of the painting. Beside her was another woman, no doubt her daughter. Reminded him of Sadie, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, but this one weren’t wearing no men’s clothes. Her black dress was full o’ lace and glittering stones, but her gaze was cold, unfeeling as she stared out at Arthur. Another beside her, nearly identical, but her dress was more plain, a smile hidden in the corner of her mouth where there was none in her sister’s.

No Master in sight Arthur could see.

“So what’s this Master’s name?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Felt like the very walls could listen in on them. “Should I be practicin’ niceties, or should I just keep my mouth shut?”

Elena laughed, crossing the carpet to stand beside him, both looking up at the painting. “Just…be yourself, Arthur. It’ll be fine.”

Elena pointed to the painting, towards the older woman. “That’s her. Celine Thornewood, Master of the coven. She had a husband once, but that was hundreds of years ago.”

A woman Master then. “Hundreds? How long do vampires live for?”

“Millenia, if we’re lucky.”

The voice came from behind them, and they both turned quickly, taken off guard.

The blonde woman from the painting perched on the desk, beside the pack. She weren’t dressed in gemstones, but her dress was still black, lace covering her arms and trailing up to her throat. Her long blonde hair was pinned up with gold pins, encircling her head like crown. “Welcome back, Lena.”

Elena grit her teeth. “Aurora. Still haunting this place? Thought you’d have got your claws in some rich eligible bachelor by now.”

There was no trace of a smile in the vampire’s cool features. “I see you’re still picking up strays. Charming.”

With a rustle of fabric, she stood, looking bored. “If you’re here to see Mother, she’s not taking visitors.”

Elena’s brow furrowed, worry bleeding into her scent. “Why? Is she alright?”

“What do you care?” The vampire waved her hand dismissively. “Our family is no business of yours. Not anymore.”

“’Cause we need ‘er help,” Arthur decided to say, hoping he wouldn’t accidentally offend her. “We need help with Bronte.”

Aurora stared at him, gaze trailing from his face to his boots, assessing. “It speaks. How…quaint.”

“Oh, fuck off Aurora!” Elena snapped irritably, and Arthur started, surprised at the sudden venom. “Get your mother or go be catty somewhere else, I don’t have time for it.”

Aurora bared perfectly white small fangs. “It’s like you’ve forgotten everything, Lena. Maybe slumming it with-“

She trailed off, and for a second, the bored expression seemed to crack, her eyes widening slightly. She swept forward faster than Arthur was expecting, leaning up into his space in a breath. He tried to control the pounding of his heart, the sudden shiver up his legs and spine that told him a predator was close.

“Well,” the vampire breathed, otherworldly eyes boring into his. “Would you look at that. Lena’s brought herself home a _feral.”_ She sniffed, and Arthur swallowed hard as her eyes seemed to change, narrowing into blue snake like slits. “Oh Lena. You naughty thing. What will Mother say?”

Arthur stumbled as Elena forcibly shoved herself between them, her anger snapping outwards and forcing the vampire back in a spray of fur and teeth.

“ _Back off,”_ Elena’s voice barked, half woman and half wolf. “ _Or so help me God I will break your pretty face all over this shitty carpet.”_

The vampire snorted, crossed her arms. “Possessive, are we? I won’t touch your filthy feral, Jesus.”

Pounding feet drew all of their attention, the huge doors slamming open and another woman spilled inside. Her blonde hair was in disarray, her skirts mud stained and petticoat poking out from underneath as she tumbled into the room, the butler following with a long suffering expression. The other woman from the painting and a spitting image of the scowling Aurora, who turned to glare at her sister.

“Katherine!” she hissed. “What are you-“

“Elena!” her sister hollered, picking herself up off the floor and batting the butler away. With a roll of his eyes, he left, leaving the doors open. “I didn’t believe it when Yates came back bitching about you! You’re here!”

She swept forward, engulfing Elena in a hug that lifted her up off her feet. “I missed you!”

Elena was still stiff, but she smiled at the newcomer, trying to pat down her wild blonde hair. “Good to see you too, Kat.”

“How long has it been?” Katherine pulled away, hands on her hips as she beamed at Elena. As different to her sister as night was to day. “Four years? Five?”

“Six,” Elena said. “Haven’t been back since the saloon incident.”

Katherine laughed, winking. “Ah yes. She’s still sore about it, you know. Moped for _weeks.”_

“ _Katherine,”_ Aurora hissed, a warning. “Shut your _mouth.”_ Her hands were balled into fists, something very unhuman shimmering just beneath her human face. Arthur, stared, fascinated.

“See?” Katherine shrugged. “Tragic, really. What brings you- oh. Hello.”

She’d noticed Arthur. The blinding smile was aimed in his direction, and he floundered a bit, unsure of what to do and trying to remember what manners were.

“Uh…hello. Miss.”

She laughed, clapping her hands together. Where her sister had a cold otherworldly beauty, Katherine seemed full of youthful girlishness, like Spring and Winter. “Oh he’s lovely! That _voice,_ Lord. What’s your name, handsome?”

“Katherine!” Aurora snapped, striding forward in a whirl of black lace and grabbing her sister’s arm. “It doesn’t matter what the hell he’s called, they shouldn’t _be here-“_

“So it's true then.”

Both vampires froze, turning meekly towards the voice coming from the door. Aurora bowed slightly, elbowing her sister, hard. "Mother I...didn't think you were taking visitors.”

And there she was. The Master.

Celine Thornewood walked slowly into the room, a burnished wooden cane in one hand that thudded against the carpet. Her head was held high with the quiet importance of a woman who knew her worth, and her daughters scattered before her, going around the desk to pull out a chair for their mother. Elena straightened as well, and Arthur copied her, trying to set his shoulders back and straight.

Celine's dress was plainer than the one in the painting, but still finer than Arthur had ever seen. A deep red, embroidered with black flowers, she settled down behind the desk like a Queen on her throne, beckoning them forward.

The Wendigo bag squatted on the desk still, and the Master arched a thin eyebrow at it, gaze settling on Elena.

“I assume you have a good reason to suddenly appear in my house after six years, staining my desk with Wendigo filth and riling up my daughters.”

Elena looked chastened. “I’m sorry. It’s…been too long.”

The Master inclined her head. “That it has. And you’ve brought...a man.”

All three vampires fixed him in their sights. Arthur cleared his throat, nodding to the Master. “I uh…Arthur Morgan. Nice…nice to meet you, M’am.”

There. That sounded nice enough. Celine leaned back on the chair, studying him.

“Arthur Morgan. A man turned wolf. How are you finding our world, Mister Morgan?”

The hell was he supposed to say to that? “’Aint been in it that long, M’am. Hoping there are nicer things than Wendigos.”

She chuckled. “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. But that you’ve met Wendigos and lived to tell the tale is something at least. Why are you here?”

Arthur looked to Elena. She was frowning, but gave him an encouraging nod. “We uh…well, I need help. Bronte took a boy, one of my family. We need him back.”

The vampire hummed, leaning her cane against the desk. It had a carved bat on it he realized, taking flight. “Yes, I know about that. Angelo was vexed so badly it’s all he talked about for days. Terribly dull.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands as she stared at him. “I meant, what are you doing _here_?”

He didn’t know what the hell she meant. Nerves wobbled in his belly. “I don’t-“

“Oh you do,” the Master said, tapping a finger against her chin. “Imagine my surprise when I hear Colm O’Driscoll was killed, out in the middle of the plains with the rest of his sad excuse of a gang. Could have cared less, he was a bastard and a thief, ran too many of my supply wagons off the roads, that you did me a favor. But it was a Were attack, plain as day, and that led to others taking notice. Our world is meant to stay hidden, Mister Morgan. You certainly didn’t hide that.”

His back was slick with sweat, skin pinching uncomfortably against the revolver. His tongue felt swollen, too big for his dry mouth. “I…I…”

“And as if that wasn’t bad enough,” the Master said, and her eyes drilled into him, wormed past his eyes into his head, the dark space inside. “Someone else takes out the Braithwaites, one of the wealthiest families in this region. Business partners of mine, even. Now I’ve got Pinkertons swarming my city, at the beck and call of one Leviticus Cornwall, who swears up and down he’s going to make someone pay for some caper over in Blackwater. Thinks the same people are responsible for the Braithwaites.”

She steepled her fingers against her mouth. “You’ve brought a lot of trouble to my city, Mister Morgan. I’m wondering why I shouldn’t just kill you right now and be done with it all.”

“That’s enough!” Elena slammed her fist down on the desk, the Wendigo head rolling inside the bag. Standing behind their mother’s back, Aurora and Katherine looked horrified, eyes opened as wide as they could go as Elena leaned down on her hands towards the Master, eyes glowing yellow and teeth sharpening.

“You don’t get to sit there and talk to him like that,” Elena said lowly, and electricity seemed to crackle around the room, anger throbbing from her with every word. “You _don’t.”_

The Master looked unaffected, gaze sliding past Elena to fix Arthur once again.

“The other things, I could perhaps understand. Forgive even,” she continued, and Arthur could see her then, the vampire she truly was. Pale and demonic, right there underneath her white skin, staring straight at him with dead eyes that reminded him too much of the Wendigo.

_I see you._

“But worst of all,” the vampire said, and Arthur locked his knees to stop them shaking. “My granddaughter seems to have fallen stupidly in love with you. She’s lost her senses and gone and claimed _you._ A feral nobody she found in the woods. So tell me, Arthur Morgan. _What are you doing here_?”

Arthur forgot to be afraid, his world narrowing onto the one word.

_Granddaughter?_

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys, you're all so amazing! <3 Thank you so much for reading, and your comments <3

* * *

John sat close to the cooking fire, staring into it until his eyes hurt from the light and the heat, eyelids gritty with smoke.

How could life go so wrong so fast? He knew he weren’t a good daddy. Hell, he weren’t a good man for Abigail, stood to reason he wouldn’t be one to the boy either. Felt like this were his fault somehow, God knew Abigail thought so. Had thrown him from her bed and cussed him all the way to the Grizzlies and back when he tried to comfort her.

Goddammit. If somethin’ happened to the boy, if…if Jack didn’t come back-

No. Couldn’t think like that. The world wouldn’t be turnin' if Jack were gone. Arthur said he’d bring him back, and he trusted that. Had to. What other choice was there?

John frowned, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stared harder into the fire. Goddamn Arthur. John thought Jack was his, once upon a time. Abigail hadn’t much forgiven him for _that_ either, but were an easy mistake to make. Arthur took the boy fishin'. Told him stories. Was there to swaddle him and rock him to sleep when he’d been a fussy baby and John had just been _gone._

Lord knew he’d made mistakes. He’d tried to make up for ‘em, and here his sins were anyways, caught up to him, only now they were punishin' his son instead.

And Arthur were out there fixin' it, and John was...here.

The sound of metal on metal, and Charles settled down beside him, spoon scraping the bottom of his plate as he set into the stew.

“Alright, John?”

Weren’t that the question. John huffed a dark laugh.

“No. Won’t be ‘till Jack’s back.”

Charles nodded. “He’ll be back. Arthur will get him.”

Just his name got John’s temper going. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. The man John could never be. “You believe that? I dunno lately. Arthur’s…different.”

There was somethin’ else about Arthur now, somethin’ that hadn’t been there before. John couldn't put it into words, was more...a feelin'.

He turned away from the fire to look at Charles fully, blinking as white dots danced in front of his eyes.

“You speak to that woman o’ his?”

Charles chewed slowly, not looking at him. He swallowed, spoon scraping metal again. “Sure.”

“She seem…odd, to you?”

“We’re all a bit odd, John.”

“Yeah well, I don’t trust ‘er.”

Charles sighed, setting down his food onto his lap. “She’s…good for Arthur, I think.”

God almighty, was like trying to get blood outta a stone tryin’ to talk to Charles sometimes, Jesus.

“Still. Somethin’ odd ‘bout them both, seems to me.”

“John.” Charles’ voice dropped low. Instinctively John leaned closer, casting an eye round them. No-one but Pearson checking the stew was still warm and Uncle playing poker with Reverend at the table. “Me and Sadie, we been talking. It might…it might be time to start thinking more about what’s best for your family.”

John frowned, watching Uncle hold up a triumphant hand, the Reverend sighing and slumping on the bench. “What you mean?”

“I mean…things don’t feel right no more. Some of the things Dutch has been saying…the plans, the heists. Sean dying. Might be time we look outwards.”

“You mean…leave?”

Charles shrugged, pushing the remnants of his meal around on the plate. “Jack needs a better life than this. Squatting in a _swamp,_ just waiting for the law to find us. There’s gotta be more. For all of us.”

Couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about it. Weren’t no life for a child, and Abigail had been hintin’ at it for a while. About gettin’ a farm of their own.

“Charles I-“

“And what the hell are you two old wives gossipin’ ‘bout?”

Micah swaggered into view. Charles stiffened, and John pulled away, recognizing the moment had passed.

“The hell you want, Micah?” John snapped. These days Micah weren’t well liked, always at Dutch’s ear, and hadn’t exactly been a favorite before.

“Easy there, sugar, can’t a man want a friendly chat with his friends?” Micah sank down beside John on the log, legs spread wide and knee nudging up against his.

“We ‘aint friends,” John said sourly.

“Aw no, that hurts my feelin’s, Marston. It truly does.” Micah grinned, clapping a hand on John’s shoulder. “I’ll forgive ya though, considerin’ you’re all in mournin’ and whatnot.”

John shrugged the hand off, irritated. “My son is _missin’,_ not dead.”

“Oh sure, sure,” Micah picked at a tooth with a dirty fingernail. “I’m sure Morgan is hard at work gettin’ him back, not fuckin’ that whore o’ his against every tree in this goddamn swamp.”

John was surprised to hear Charles bite out a curse, standing quickly. “Don’t call her that. You’re full of shit as always, Micah. They’ll get Jack.”

Micah feigned surprise, slapping a hand against his chest dramatically. “Why Charles! Didn’t know you were such a _gentleman.”_

He leaned forward with a crude smile, winking. “You like a bit o’ Mexican? You fuckin’ her too?”

Startled, John nearly didn’t manage to stand in time, colliding with Charles as he lunged forward, plate and cutlery discarded in favor of trying to punch and scrap. John wrangled him away from the fire, Micah cackling all the while.

“Easy, he ‘aint worth it!” John managed to get Charles’s arms pinned to his sides, the other man breathing hard. “He’s just rilin’ you up ‘cause he can.”

“’Aint that the truth,” Micha fished in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. “Boring as hell in these swamps. Might be I’ll take the bitch for a ride myself when she’s back. Morgan certainly ‘aint much of a mount I’d reckon.”

“She’d eat your heart,” Charles snapped at him, eyes dark and furious. Micah arched an eyebrow, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as he patted his pockets for matches.

“That so? Interestin’ choice o’ words that, Charles. Seein’ as that’s how poor ol’ Colm O’Driscoll ended up.”

John frowned, hands still on Charles’ arms as he craned to look at Micah. Matches found, Micah struck one, the match flaring to life with a sizzle.

“The fuck you talkin’ about?”

Micah smiled around the cigarette, lighting it and pulling in a lungful of smoke. He shook the match out.

“Guess made sense he can only get a woman by payin’,” Micah sighed dramatically smoke curling from his mouth in a cloud, and Charles strained against John again, had to set his boots into the earth good to stop the larger man from barreling straight over him. “’Course, every man to his deviancies, I say. Some like to fuck, some, like Morgan, like to _be_ fucked. Over and over.”

Something hot and painful settled in John’s stomach like food gone bad.

“You-“

“God- ** _damn_** _you Micah Bell!”_ The screech made all three of them jump, the sound of slapping leather following and Micah wailing, jumping to his feet and the cigarette tumbling from his mouth.

He rubbed the back of his shoulder, staring around as his cigarette smoldered in the grass. “Fuck, what the-“

Another strike on his hand, and he hollered again, the skin welting red. John realized it was _Sadie,_ descending like a wrathful specter, her own belt slid from her waist and coiled in her hand. She brought it down on Micah again, hitting his side which forced him to curl in on himself to protect his front. Eyes burning with rage, Sadie brought the belt down on his shoulders, his arms, his head, anything she could reach.

“You good for nothin’, son of a _pig,_ goddamn low life lyin’, shit for brains, _asshole-“_ she spat obscenities with every lungful and Micah cowered away, yelping and hollering. John just stood there, dumbstruck, and Charles didn’t move to help, arms crossed and a huge grin in place.

The commotion was enough to bring the others, Bill running in and trying to get ahold of Sadie and her flailing belt. Weren’t much good, she only turned on him, and Bill cowered away, arms over his head as he ducked the blows. Uncle and Reverend stayed put at the table with wide eyes, and the women were laughing at the entrance to the house, Karen doubled over and wheezing.

“You ever _,"_ Sadie hissed, and John could feel the venom in it, deadly like the rattling snakes on the plains. "You **_ever_** open your goddamn mouth like that again and there will be reckonin’!" Micah was squealing like a stuck pig, another blow slapping against his back. “You hear me? _I’ll_ eat your goddamn heart, or whatever shriveled black mess you _call_ a heart!”

“The hell is goin’ on here?” Dutch demanded, walking quickly towards them, Molly trailing behind in a flurry of colorful skirts. Micah yelped, scurrying away from Sadie towards the safety of Dutch, a cut bleeding sluggishly from his temple.

“That crazy bitch _attacked me,_ Dutch!” Micah babbled. “She just came at me like a goddamn animal!”

“The only animal ‘ere is _you!”_ Sadie shot back, hands on her hips, the belt still dangling. “Spreadin’ bad feelin’ like a disease.”

Dutch was frowning, dark eyes glaring at Sadie suspiciously. “Mrs. Adler I don’t-“

“She had cause,” Charles said quickly, coming to her defense. “We witnessed it, didn’t we John?”

John blinked, clearing his throat. “Oh uh, yeah. Micah had it comin’.”

Micah glowered at them both, spitting on the ground, but wisely held his tongue. John still had the bad feeling in his belly. This weren’t over yet.

Dutch rubbed his temples. “Can’t keep the peace for even a _minute._ The hell is wrong with you all? Can’t you see I’m busy _planning?_ ”

Sadie tried to make herself look contrite. “Sorry Dutch.”

Dutch sighed, muttering to himself as he strode away. Micah shot them another glare, then was off on his heels like a loyal dog. Slowly the camp went back to their tasks, Bill muttering about women and crazy turns as he slipped back to the horses.

Sadie was still breathing hard as she joined John and Charles, getting her belt back on around her waist. “Damn that felt amazin’. You two should try it some time.”

Charles laughed, head back and full body chuckling. “That might have been the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Sadie grinned, face red with sweat and hair wild. “He had it comin’. Heard you three talkin’ as I came through. Heard what he was sayin’. Foul mouth little bastard.”

“What he mean though?” John asked, still uneasy and confused. “Bout Colm?”

Sadie and Charles shared a look, something that John weren’t privy to. Maybe it were for the best.

“Don’t you mind him. Arthur’ll be back soon with Jack, best we set to gettin’ the place ready for him, yeah?” Sadie said breezily, Charles nodding.

John followed them both towards the house, towards the room Grimshaw had set up for Abigail, Jack and him.

The bad feeling still followed, heavy like lead.

* * *

This house. This goddamn house, with it’s echoing hallways and the multitudes of priceless antiques and furniture she’d never been allowed to touch, scolded if she even so much as _looked_ at them. It was as if she was a child again, inventing friends from the marble statues and waging wars against the thick drapes.

She’d hoped Celine had moved on, back to Europe and handed Saint Denis over to someone else. There was no end to the power-hungry relatives who had been clamoring for the city, a new start in the new world.

But here she was. Still. Glaring at Arthur like she still had some sort of say over Elena’s life, what she did, and who she saw.

“I’m not your granddaughter,” Elena said, her words as sharp as her teeth. “I’m a Were.”

Celine barely looked at her. “I raised your mother. You’re my granddaughter.”

Elena wanted to scream. Wanted to tear the paintings from the walls and just set fire to the whole place, raze the place to the ground and all the ghosts in it.

But Elena wasn’t a child anymore, and these feelings were childish remnants of a grieving girl she’d left behind years ago. She wrestled the mounting emotions back down, back under lock and key where they belonged.

“Fine. _Grandmother,_ ” she said sarcastically, unable to temper the bite in her words. Katherine flinched behind her mother. “We didn’t come here for you to insult-“

“I’m not insulting, dearest,” Celine said coolly, and her pale white eyes fixed on Elena then, boring deep. “But imagine my surprise when word of my wayward granddaughter makes it to me, but that she’s running wild with a _feral._ And unbonded at that!”

Elena leaned on the desk again, daring to bare her teeth. She had no illusions that she could put up a fight of any kind, Celine was more powerful, and combined, all three vampires in the room could easily kill her and Arthur in only a few seconds. 

But there was some truth to Celine’s words, they’d been family for a time, as strange as that had been.

“I’m not interested in your old-fashioned opinions,” Elena said lowly. “We came, because we need a favor. I brought the Wendigo head as trade for it, nothing more.”

Celine snorted, reaching out to prod the bag with a well manicured finger nail. “You expect me to make use of this? This putrid thing?”

“You know how valuable it is.”

“To the Night Folk, perhaps. And our treaty with _them_ is long dissipated.” Celine leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in front of her. “A lot has happened since you were with us, Elena. Saint Denis is a new city of different rules.”

“Clearly.” Elena glanced at Aurora and Katherine behind. Was a time she had looked upon them as older sisters. Katherine gave her a warm smile, but Aurora was as frigid as ever. “So you won’t help us.”

Celine sighed. “Always so impatient. I don’t think you understand what’s happening out there, Elena. There’s more at stake here than your feral’s lost boy.”

Arthur was stock still beside her, his scent uneasy. Elena tried to temper her anger, to calm herself down for him. “So tell me what I have to do to get you to help us.”

Celine rose from the chair in a rustle of silk and lace. “This Leviticus Cornwall is a powerful man. I’ve had the displeasure of meeting him once or twice. Normally I’d write him off as the usual money hungry human they always are.”

She moved around the desk, and Elena straightened, watching her. The vampire moved to the fireplace, resting her hand on the cool marble. “He’s not only hired Pinkertons, he’s hired _Hunters._ Hunters which have been scouring the country and rooting out any and all that he deems has cheated him.”

“Hunters?” Elena repeated. “But…how would…why…”

“What’s a hunter?” Arthur asked, and she stepped in closer to him, taking his arm to ground herself, slipping her hand in his. He squeezed her gently.

Celine turned, watching them both. “They’re humans skilled in the art of killing our kind. Vampire, Were, anything of our world. And they’re rather good at it.”

Aurora shifted from her vigil behind the desk, coming to lean against the side of it. “And they’re in the city wearing the Pinkerton badge. Your little stunt running across the rooftops could have roused them, set them on us.”

Cold fear settled at the base of Elena’s spine. “I…what? I didn’t-“

“They didn’t see,” Katherine said gently, able to hear the sudden uptick of Elena’s pattering heart. “Yates headed them off before they could notice anything.”

“This time,” Aurora muttered. “You were lucky, Elena. Now you march in here demanding we help you when you could have very well killed us all.”

Celine shook her head. “I assume that Mister Cornwall has connections we don’t know about. It’s unlikely he’s familiar with what the Hunters actually _do,_ but he had the money to pay anyone promising him the capture of the outlaw gang, and it didn’t matter who, what or how. So now we have Pinkertons and Pinkerton _Hunters_ roaming our city looking for anything they might get paid for killing.”

“There are barely any fledglings left,” Katherine said quietly, and sadness settled around them all, thick and silent. “The Hunters found the nests down under the slums and burned them all.”

Elena reeled, holding onto Arthur to keep her up. She’d hated the nests, so cold and dark under the earth, but it was what gave the vampires _life,_ the promise of young that took years to cultivate, to tend and birth. To have it all gone-

“Why have you stayed?” Elena whispered. “Why not go back to Europe and safety?”

Celine smiled sadly. “This is our home, Elena. My daughters were born here, I’ll not abandon it so quickly.”

“It’s not just the vampires that have suffered,” Aurora said angrily, blue eyes flashing. “Most of the large Were packs are gone, only small isolated packs like yours remain. The Night Folk survive only because of the insurmountable swamps. The Hunter’s ranks grow while our numbers dwindle. We’re nothing more than trophies to display in their grotesque societies, whole species hunted to extinction out on the plains! And you come here to moan about one human _boy_.”

Elena felt very small. How much had she missed, spending her years with her small pack flitting from place to place? They’d lived in wild places far removed from the cities, and that’s how she’d liked it.

“Does Uncle know?” she asked, understanding beginning to dawn. “Have you told him?”

“No. I’ve not spoken to Anton in years,” Celine said, folding her hands primly in front of her. Ever the picture of decorum, ever the lady. “I thought at first his decision to ferry you all into that Godless desert was a stupid decision but now…now I can see the wisdom. It sheltered you all from…well. The world.”

“There’s more,” Aurora hissed.

Celine glanced at her daughter sharply. “Aurora-“

“The worst part is he’s _here,_ Elena.” Aurora continued, ignoring her mother. “The one who killed your father. In Saint Denis.”

Elena held onto Arthur and breathed. In and out. Vampires smelled sickly sweet, blood and metal and darkness, but she didn’t care as she huffed in deep breaths to calm herself, to not panic. Arthur steadied her, wrapped his arm around her to tuck her close against him.

“You’re alright,” he murmured to her, and she concentrated on him, his strength and calm. “I got you.”

A deep sigh, and Celine rubbed her temple, skin so pale Elena could see the blue and purple veins. “So you understand when I ask you, Mister Morgan, why are you _here?_ If you’re half as attached to my granddaughter as she seems to be to you, you’ll take her far, far away from this place. You understand?”

“I…understand, M’am,” Arthur said. “I…dunno what else I can say.”

“I suppose we can only hope the Pinkertons get what they’ve come for, and Cornwall calls off his dogs.” Celine grimaced. “Or I fear there’s still a great deal of suffering to come.”

Katherine approached, cool hands gentle as she touched Elena’s arm in comfort. “It’ll be alright, sweet. We have eyes on the Hunter, we know his comings and goings.”

“So why haven’t you killed him?” Elena surged back towards anger, the emotion easier to swallow. “If he’s here, then kill the bastard!”

The three vampires glanced at one another. “It’s not so simple,” Katherine said sadly. “It’s not just him, there are others, and there will always _be_ others to take their places if we kill them. An endless cycle of bloodshed.”

“So you do nothing?” Elena demanded, and Arthur tried to hush her, tried to calm her, but her anger was boiling now, bubbling up from the dark places she hid it. “You sit in your cold mansion and just _sit by_ as the man, the _monster,_ that gutted my father like a mongrel dog, walks the streets?”

Katherine’s eyes were sorrowful. “Elena, please-“

“I was there!” Elena shouted, shrugging Arthur’s hand from her. “I was _there_ as they ripped the skin from his body, as they _laughed_ at his pain, writhing in the dirt. And you…you won’t-“

“Enough, dearest,” Celine said. “The past is done. We have to focus on preserving our future.”

She felt like a child again. Don’t be too emotional, Elena. It’s not becoming of a _lady,_ Elena. Be calm, be sedate, no rough housing, no screaming at the stars. Don’t be wild. Don’t be loud.

Don’t be _you._

“Breathe,” Arthur whispered to her, and she could feel him at her back, his warmth and body surrounding her. “Like you taught me. Breathe. Focus. I’m ‘ere.”

She breathed out shakily. Arthur was with her.

“So the bastard is in Saint Denis,” she finally managed, proud of herself as her voice didn’t crack. “Fine. It still stands we need to get the boy back from Bronte. You want us to leave? We’ll take the boy and never return. Just…help us. Please.”

Celine crossed back to the desk, settling back onto her throne with a bone-weary sigh. “Very well. Oh don’t look too worried, Mister Morgan, the boy has been treated well. Mister Yates will escort you to the Bronte mansion. Once you have the boy, he’ll then escort you out of the city. I trust you’ll stand by your word, Elena, and not return.”

There was soft affection in the Master vampire’s eyes as she gazed at Elena, and as angry her heart was, Elena felt it too. “I know we may seem harsh, or cold. You often lamented that as a girl. But it’s only to protect you, my dear. In time, I hope you’ll see that.”

Parker was summoned, the butler as familiar and built into the house like another piece of furniture. He spoke to Celine quietly, and Katherine swept Elena up in another flowery hug.

“Be safe, little wolf,” she murmured affectionately into Elena’s hair, her porcelain skin cold against Elena’s warm cheek. The childhood name made Elena’s heart lurch with longing, simpler times when Katherine had wrapped her in blankets and told her stories of the old world. Aurora was never one for hugs, but her glare was less intense as she nodded curtly.

Katherine went to Arthur next, kissing him on both cheeks and startling an embarrassed blush out of him.

“You too, Arthur,” Katherine smiled. “I’d tell you to look after her, but Elena has always looked after herself. So look after _each other,_ if you don’t mind.”

“’Course. M’am.”

Parker bowed, it was their time to leave. Elena hesitated at the desk, not knowing what else to say.

It felt like this goodbye was the final one.

“Be safe, granddaughter.” Celine said, and there was love there, Elena knew that, despite the anger and bitterness. Celine chuckled, pushing the Wendigo head back towards her.

“And take that with you, please. Let the Night Folk pay you for it.”

Elena swallowed, picking up the pack. It felt heavy all of a sudden, and she clutched it tightly against her chest, an anchor in the storm. “Thank you. I…be safe too. Grandmother.”

She trailed after Parker, Arthur at her side. Before the doors closed on them, there was a wistful sad sigh, a murmured wish of safety she'd barely been able to catch from Aurora's lips.

* * *

The sky was dark as they pulled the horses up at the gates of the Bronte mansion, evening settling. Yates was as acidic and bitter as always, but Elena kept her mouth shut, didn’t rise to his goading or insults as he rode alongside them with the two other men that had pursued them only that morning. He had served the Thornewood family as he had always done, and Elena felt foolish that she had almost brought ruin to them all.

They didn’t even need to enter the house, two smartly clad men practically thrust the child at them over the fence, Arthur having to stoop, still mounted on his horse, to gather the boy to him and settle him on the saddle.

“Uncle Arthur!” the boy exclaimed. “You here to see Papa Bronte?”

Arthur snorted, getting the boy settled on the saddle in front of him. “Papa Bronte?”

“Oh yes! I had fun with Papa Bronte. I had my own room, and a bed, and toys, and we ate _spaghetti.”_

“Spag-a-what now?”

“Spaghetti! Noodles!”

They were an odd sight no doubt, horses all in a line as they plodded towards the outskirts of Saint Denis, Jack talking a mile a minute about his experience. Elena just felt deflated, too tired and too sad all at once.

Yates drew alongside her on his brown Tennessee. “Not so full of piss and vinegar now, are ya, wolf-bitch?”

She was too tired to fight. “Something like that.”

Yates sniffed, moustache twitching. “The Master was always too soft on you, Vasquez. Never could discipline worth a damn, though your hide needed tannin’ a fair few times.”

Elena combed her fingers through Ghost’s black mane, teasing a bramble out. “Well you were always there for that, Yates. Took a strap to me on more than one occasion if I remember rightly.”

The man shrugged. “Fat lot of good that did. You still ran barefoot with the stableboy and climbed all over the rooftops. Did what you had your heart set on, and ‘spose a part o’ me respected that. You’re a wild thing, Vasquez, and wild things don’t belong in the city.”

She glanced at the man beside her. The lamps had been lit, casting the streets in an orange glow, staving off the shadows that only grew longer and darker the further they went towards the outskirts of town.

“You’ll keep them safe, Yates.”

It wasn't a question. He sniffed, nodding once.

“I always do, Vasquez. I keep all o’ ya safe, no matter what you think o’ me.”

He jerked his chin towards Arthur, riding ahead. She could still hear Jack, chattering on, Arthur’s calm low hums as he listened. “You take your feral and the boy, and you _run._ Go to whatever wild place takes your fancy and you pop out as many pups as you can, and you _live_. World is changin’, and would be a damn shame if it took you with it.”

They reached the bridge leading out into the swamps, the end of it dark and foreboding. Elena swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling like she was turning her back on something bigger, closing a door she wasn’t sure she’d be able to open again.

“Thanks Yates. You look after yourself too.” She offered her hand, surprised when he took it. She’d considered him an enemy once, a child only seeing in black and white, but life as an adult had proved life was just shades of grey.

“I will.”

One last shake, and his hand slipped away, turning his horse and taking his men back into the city. Elena watched them go, and she was surprised to find tears in her eyes, feeling lost.

“Elena?”

Arthur was waiting for her, had stopped Valkyrie on the bridge, the Appaloosa prancing on the wood impatiently. Jack strained on the saddle, craning his small face towards her, curious.

Elena sniffed, managing a watery smile. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, giving herself a shake. The smell of rain was on the breeze, there'd be a storm soon. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

She nudged Ghost on, the gelding happily trailing after Valkyrie. They’d get the boy back to camp, and figure out life from there.

She had to look towards the future, and leave the past behind.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some torture, kind of graphic and nasty. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I do have an end in sight for this fic, but I honestly don't know how many chapters I want it to be just yet:')

* * *

The party was in full swing, the whole gang jubilant and laughing, cheeks pinched red in the cool night air as alcohol flowed freely. Javier struck up song after song on his guitar, and Uncle’s warbling voice joined it, getting the women dancing and giggling.

It warmed Arthur up, made his heart swell as he watched his family celebrate their joy. Hell, even John had clapped him on the shoulder, emotions making his voice crack as he thanked Arthur for fetching his son.

All was well. Jack was home. Dutch was in high spirits, twirling Mary-Beth around the fire, and even Micah couldn’t spoil it, sat by Bill and sucked down beer, bottle by bottle.

‘Cept maybe all weren’t quite right.

Elena had joined in, singing a song with Javier in perfect Spanish that made the others whoop and holler, and she’d shared drinks and smiles with all, though it seemed strained to Arthur’s eye. Jack had hugged her legs before Abigail dragged to the boy to bed, and Arthur should be happy that she was accepted by them like she was.

But a bad feeling still set in his belly, bitter on his tongue. She hadn’t mentioned Celine before. Hadn’t bothered with that fine detail and it felt like there were a lot more there to say. Could’ve cost them Jack if it had gone sour.

“Alright there, Arthur?”

Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts. He’d escaped the bustle of the party and had set himself up against Pearson’s wagon, watching the party. Sadie leaned on the table next to him, fishing a beer bottle out of the crate beside him, glass clinking.

“Yeah. Just enjoyin’ the scene.”

Sadie smiled, holding up her beer to him in a salute. “It makes a damn change don’t it? That woman o’ yours came through. You picked a good one there.”

Arthur nodded absently. “Yeah. She’s…somethin’.”

Sadie took a drink, looking out across the gang where the Reverend had joined in the dancing, swinging Elena around by the arm as she laughed.

“So there a reason you’re not out there dancin’ with ‘er instead?”

Arthur shrugged, crossing his arms. “Don’t feel like dancin’.”

Sadie chuckled, tapping the bottle against her lower lip knowingly. “Lover’s quarrel?”

A glare didn’t put her off, just made the smile pull at the corners of Sadie’s mouth wider.

“We ‘aint quarreled.”

“Uh-huh.”

Arthur sighed, knowing she wouldn’t leave it.

“She don’t…I don’t reckon she trusts me.”

Sadie hummed, leaning up against the wagon beside him, bottle held close to her chest as she watched the dancing as well. “That so?”

“She didn’t tell me ‘bout…some things. Family. We coulda been in a lot o’ trouble ‘cause of it.”

“You talked to her ‘bout it?”

Arthur frowned. “Not yet.”

Sadie tilted her bottle at him again. “Well that’d be a start.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. The song changed to something slower, and with giggles Karen and Tilly started slow dancing, tangling their feet together and nearly going flat on their faces to a chorus of laughter.

“Maybe it ‘aint so much about trust as it is ‘bout protectin’,” Sadie suggested, her expression all too knowing in the flickering shadows from the fire. “A heart is a wonderful thing, but it certainly ‘aint easy handin’ it over to someone else.”

He glanced at her as she took another drink. There was a wistful twist to her face as she watched Lenny steal Tilly away to twirl her around to the soothing drawl of Javier’s guitar, his feet a hell of a lot surer than Karen’s.

Sometimes he forgot what she’d been through, what she’d lost. Weren’t sure he’d be as strong, in her boots.

“I’m sorry, Sadie,” he murmured. “Weren’t right that they took ‘im from you.”

Her eyes were bright, as she nudged his shoulder with hers.

“Not a moment goes by I don’t miss my Jake,” she said quietly. “But truth is, I loved him, and I lost him. You still got yours. So maybe instead of sittin’ over here mopin’, you should go dance with your woman and _talk_ to her.”

Arthur sighed. “I’m just…tryin’ to think ‘bout my words first. I ‘aint…much used to all this.”

Sadie nodded, chuckling as Bill dipped Karen into a dramatic waltz that was clumsy as all hell, another burst of laughter breaking the shadows. “I weren’t ever a good talker neither. But it never mattered none, as long as we _tried.”_

Arthur really looked at Sadie then, the lines of her face and the firelight glinting in her blonde hair. The widow. The fighter. The survivor.

The woman.

“You’re a hell of a woman, Sadie,” Arthur said lowly, and her startled gunpowder scent flared in his nose. “We’re lucky to have you, and I…thanks. For always bein’ there.”

She turned to him, eyes bright in the dark. “I…I weren’t there when you needed me, Arthur. Like I weren’t there for my Jake. Weren’t a mistake I thought I’d make again and…I’m sorry. So damn sorry.”

He hushed her, slinging an arm protectively across her shoulders and pulling her close for an awkward hug. Her beer bottle dug into his chest, her scent bitter and regretful. They hadn’t touched like this before, the action too familiar, but they’d been through too much, seen similar horrors. She understood. She were family.

“The bastard is dead,” Arthur murmured into her hair, and she shuddered, curling into him. “Some nights I still hear ‘im, but he’s _dead._ He can’t hurt us no more.”

Sadie breathed out shakily. “I know. Devil take him and damn him.”

She sniffed, rubbing the back of her wrist against her nose, pulling away from Arthur. She smiled weakly. “Was easier to think ‘bout dyin’ for hate. Harder to try and figure out what I wanna _live_ for.”

“You will. We’re gonna get outta this life, Sadie. Build somethin’ better.”

And he truly believed it, he realized. Maybe not Dutch’s vision, not a beach on some hot and far away island, but Arthur could see a future, as out of focus and distant it may be. A bit of land to call their own, horses and cattle to work. It was there, and it was _theirs._ Him, Elena, Sadie, the gang. The family. They could do it.

Sadie’s fingers crept up his cheek, cupping his cheek gently, nails catching against his beard. Her eyes were still bright with grief, but she was smiling.

“And there it is,” she whispered. “You came back different, Arthur. I were worried. But now, you’re…you’re _more._ More than you were, and maybe that’s just you, or it was her-“

Sadie dropped her hand, looking out towards Elena, who had been stolen from the Reverend by Hosea, their dancing much more formal. The old con-man was smiling ear to ear, and Elena dipped and curtsied like a lady at a ball.

“You got _hope_ ,” Sadie said. “And for what it’s worth…if it comes to it. I’ll follow _you_ , Arthur.”

One last squeeze to his arm, and Sadie was gone, off into the shadows to comfort old grief and memories. Arthur stared after her. _Follow? **Him?**_

He’d never…thought about it. He’d toyed with _leaving_ sure. ‘Specially when Mary was on his arm, but it had never been a choice, he’d always choose Dutch. Had to, after the years, and the scores, and the blood owed. But things had changed. _He’d_ changed, as much as Dutch had and maybe…maybe it were time he started thinking about it.

The fire was still stoked high, warm against his skin as Arthur left the shadows and approached. Micah had wandered off, the Reverend and Bill slumped together muttering, Javier’s playing slowing down as his eyelids started dropping. Uncle was already passed out in the grass, Karen and Mary-Beth leaning against each other as they stumbled back to their bed rolls. John was with Abigail, and Lenny still swayed with Tilly a little further away, their forms outlined in the moonlight. Dutch was gone.

Hosea bowed graciously as Arthur approached, twirling Elena straight into Arthur’s arms.

“And on that note, my lady, goodnight!” Hosea laughed, nodding to Arthur as he too went to search out a spot to sleep.

Elena gazed up at Arthur, and he settled his hand at the small of her back, taking her hand in his other, their fingers tanging together. In the firelight she seemed softer, younger, and he felt coarse and rough in comparison.

Words caught in his throat, unsure how to proceed. She saved him, leant up to kiss him quickly, pulling on his hand.

“Come on. We need to talk.”

No-one took notice of them as they slipped into the shadows together, Arthur blinking to adjust his eyes to the night away from the bright sparks of the fire. The moon hung high and full, made something under his skin sing at the sight of it. Elena led him through the grass towards the river, behind the back of a sagging old boat house that had seen better days. A crumbling pier still sat low in the water, and she beckoned him over to it, settled herself down amongst the rushes and quiet water.

The air was cool enough most of the insects were abed, only a few braver fireflies flying drunkenly along the shores. Further out, a gator rumbled, vibrating the water, but Elena didn’t seem worried. Arthur settled down beside her, cross-legged on the aged wood.

“I owe you an apology,” Elena said. She picked at a bullrush, the stalks swaying. “I…there are a lot of things I should have told you. And I didn’t.”

“Why?” Arthur asked. “Why didn’t you say somethin’? ‘Bout Celine? It coulda cost us, Elena. Coulda lost Jack.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Her scent was sad, regretful. “Honestly? I…anything I say is just an excuse. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, and that’s the truth.”

“’Cause you don’t trust me,” Arthur said, and tried not to sound bitter. “’Cause I ‘aint-“

“ _No.”_ Her growl had the hairs on the back of his neck rising, his own gums itching at the surety of it. “No, Arthur. I trust you. I do. This is all…new to me. Having someone like you at my back, someone I can lean on, I can depend on-“

She sighed, tilting her face up towards the night sky. “For a long time it’s just been me and my pack. I don’t…I never ever thought I’d take a mate or make a claim. And here you are, proving me wrong.”

He fought the urge to try and touch her, just sat and waited patiently. She huffed, dropping her chin to look at him fully.

“So here it is. I’m scared, Arthur. I’m scared how strongly I feel for you, what I want with you. And I’m scared…I’m scared you’ll leave.”

He wanted to protest, to hotly declare only death would drag him from her now, but that were probably just it, weren’t it?

“I’m scared I’ll say too much, and you’ll realize that I’m more trouble than it’s worth, or worse, you’ll be exactly who I _know_ you are, and you’ll stay, and you’ll love me, and then…then…”

She looked lost. Vulnerable and young. How many years was there between them? Did it even matter?

“There’s a lot of death in my family, Arthur,” she said quietly. “It’s ugly, and terrible, and I didn’t want to tell you about any of it because it’s an ugly, terrible, part of _me._ ”

Arthur shook his head, reaching for her hand. “We all got ugly, terrible parts. I got plenty, yet here you are.”

Elena smiled, entwining her fingers with his. “Here I am. I’m selfish, Arthur. Hot headed, reckless, and I don’t think things through as much as I should. I want you, and I took you, and I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I went in there knowing it was probable Celine was still there, and I put them all at risk because I was selfish and still angry over shit that happened years ago.”

“We all got demons, Elena,” Arthur said. “Hell, some o’ us have enough to make a damn army. But if we’re gonna do this, if…if you wanna be with me, then we gotta _talk_ about ‘em. Me too. And maybe together, we can beat ‘em.”

She nodded. “I know. I need to do better. And I will. I promise, Arthur. I’ll fuck up, I know I will, but I’ll do my best.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I promise too. We’ll do it together.”

“Together.”

She shuffled closer to him, and he pulled her in for a kiss, her lips soft and inviting. He pulled back to kiss her nose, making her laugh, and they tumbled down together on the pier, Arthur on his back looking up at the stars, Elena curled with her head on his chest, a leg slung over his.

She started talking, her voice calm and collected as the fireflies danced closer.

“My mother was an orphan. Her pack had gone, killed by Hunters, and she was taken to an orphanage in Saint Denis that was little better than a workhouse. A Were child with no pack is a hard thing to hide, and it wasn’t long until Celine heard about a Were orphan that was starting to draw attention. I don’t rightly know why she decided to do it, if it was kindness, or she was paid or…I don’t know. But Celine decided to take the child in, raised it as her own daughter. Trained her to hide the Were inside.”

Elena chuckled, drawing a pattern on Arthur’s shirt over his heart. “My mother was raised as a proper lady, not a pretend one like me. She wore the dresses, and did the high teas, the balls and galas. She was well liked in society, made Celine proud. So I suppose it was a shock when my father blew into town and captured her heart.”

Arthur watched the stars above, running a hand idly down her back. “He weren’t high society?”

She snorted. “No. My father’s pack followed the railway, and the work it generated. Wasn’t an easy living, they had to work hard, but it brought money, and as they were always moving, the Hunters never could find them. They came to Saint Denis, a pack of about twenty, and my parents fell in love.”

Arthur tried to see it in his mind’s eye, the splendor of Celine’s house welcoming a grease covered man in overalls. “Take it Celine didn’t like that.”

He could feel Elena smile against him. “No. My mother had been destined to marry some Baron or another, and my father showed up, they claimed each other, and within a month, she was pregnant with an illegitimate child.”

Arthur whistled. “Didn’t waste no time. That were you?”

“No. My brother, Paul.” Her scent curled around him, sad. “Celine saw that my parents were married in human fashion, so society couldn’t wag any tongues, but the damage was done. And the pack needed to move on.”

She rolled onto her back to look up at the stars, head still cushioned on him. “My father wasn’t an easy man to love. He had a temper, and a love of whiskey and pretty ladies. But they were claimed, and I truly believe my mother loved him, and he her, in his own way. She followed him and the pack with the railroad.”

Arthur frowned. “Thought a claiming is for life. One person for the rest of time.”

“That’s how it _should_ be. But we’re human, as much as we are wolf. And our hearts can be just as fragile, given to the wrong person. My father…he didn’t keep to the claim. My mother knew it, I think. But it didn’t stop her from loving him anyways, and after several hard years on the road, she had me.”

The river critters had come out, frogs in the dark that hoped to prey on the fireflies. Their croaks were comforting in the dark, small splashes of life.

“I don’t know when it started happening. I was a child, too naive to understand things. But it started with an aunt, I remember that much. They found her body in the night, and the whole pack went on the run. Said it was Hunters, hired to root out Weres.”

“Were it?”

“I don’t know. Other Weres, Hunters, Pinkertons, it’s all the same, anyhow. Death in the night. Our pack died, one by one. The young, the old, it didn’t matter. They rode us down until there was practically nothing left, just my parents, me and Paul, Uncle Anton and my two cousins, Elijah and Diego.”

She reached her arm up, tracing a constellation Arthur didn’t know. “The Pack used to tell us stories about the stars, the heroes and Gods. I prayed to them that night, but it didn’t do any good.”

Arthur rubbed her arm. “I’m here. Tell me.”

So she did. Her voice, low and quiet at first, building in confidence as she told him about her Pack, and what they'd lost.

* * *

* * *

Her lungs _burned,_ her legs weak and aching as she tried to keep up, but she was small, and _tired._ Her brother’s hand gripped hers in the dark so tightly she could feel the bones in her hand creak together, pain flaring there too, but she was too afraid to speak up, too frightened of what was behind them.

Dogs brayed in the dark, bloodhounds on the trail and smelling wolf.

“Come on, Elena!” Paul snapped back to her, hauling her through a dead thicket. Twigs slashed at her arms and legs, pulling on her muddied dress and tearing holes. Her brother was only thirteen, but he was almost as tall as their father, shoved through the undergrowth easily as she tripped and stumbled.

She was seven. She had to be brave. Brave for Mama.

“Paul, I can’t,” she squeaked, legs giving out again. “I’m so tired!”

He had tried to carry her, but she was too heavy for him, he was tall, but not strong yet. Not like Papa.

“You have to!” he said, and she could hear as well smell the desperation on her brother, his hand slick with sweat in hers. “You have to, Lena, they’re comin’. They’re _comin’.”_

She slipped in the mud, going down onto her knees with a cry of pain. The dogs were close, she could hear men as well, excited shouts, and shots in the dark. Paul was near crying with it, trying to pull her up.

“I don’t wanna die,” he was babbling, trying to pull his little sister to her bleeding feet. “I don’t wanna die, Lord, save us.”

A shadow moved, and sure hands grabbed Elena, hauled her out of the mud and up into familiar arms.

“ _Mama!”_

“Paul, to me,” Mama said curtly, and Paul grabbed onto her skirt, Mama pushing through the mud and weeds, her pups clinging to her like possums.

“Where’s Papa?” Elena asked, daring to look behind them, towards the torches in the distance.

“Papa is fine,” Mama soothed her, and blissful, Elena sank into her scent, lavender and _home._ “We’re going to be fine, pups. Just keep _running.”_

“Helen!” a gruff shout to the right, and Elena nearly cried with joy as Uncle Anton stumbled out of the trees, Elijah under one arm, Diego under the other. Both were older than Paul, but Anton carried them them like sacks of grain. Elena could smell blood on all of them. “We have to make to the river. Dogs’ll lose the scent and we can lose the bastards.”

Mama glanced behind, towards the torches. “Anton, take the pups. Get to the river, follow it to Van Horn. There’s a boat there captained by a friend. He’ll take you towards Blackwater.”

Uncle Anton was bleeding, a ragged cut at his temple. He looked exhausted, mud crusted up his legs. The boys in his arms were silent, lifeless. “Helen, what are you-“

“Go to the desert,” Mama said firmly. “Stay away from the cities and towns. It’s what I…what I should have done years ago.”

“Helen, no, we’ll all go,” Anton was struggling to set the boys down, and Mama dropped a kiss to Paul’s head, setting down Elena beside him. Elena’s cut feet stung.

“Be good, my loves,” Mama said. “Be good for Uncle Anton.”

“Helen, no!” Anton bellowed, arms still full with unconscious pups, and Mama was turning, disappearing back into the shadows. “You’ll _die!”_

Paul reached for Elena, determined to make Mama proud of the man he was becoming, but already his little sister had slipped after their mother, too young to understand why she had gone.

…

Elena was scared, but she had to be brave for Mama. It was easier to follow her mother’s scent back through the forest and mud, little feet stinging and bruised. The dogs were still barking, but the torches dipping between the trees weren’t following, she realized. The Hunters had stopped chasing them, but now it was Mama who chased them, and Elena followed her, splashing through puddles, and hitching her skirts high as she picked through the thickets.

The lights grew brighter, and Elena grimaced as she could smell the sour tang of alcohol, blood and gunpowder. Horses and dogs, sounds and smells that were overwhelming. It made her want to change, to hide in her wolf form, but Mama had said she couldn’t.

_Don’t change. Don’t show them who you are._

There was a clearing in the trees. Elena could see the torches, men holding them. Some on horseback, some on foot. One man had a hold of the dogs, and they barked and lunged as the men laughed.

Mama was there too. She paused just at the edge of the trees, in view of the men, though none of them seemed to move towards her, and she didn’t move towards them. Elena wanted to go to her, to hide in her skirts and hold onto her legs as she had done when she was truly small, but instinct warned her away, made her drop to her hands and knees, scooting through the dense leaves of a nearby bush. A twig caught her hair, pulled it loose from her scalp, and it hurt, but it weren’t enough to stop her pushing through, until she could see the clearing itself and the men there.

“Let him go,” Mama was saying, her voice shaking. “Please. Just let him go.”

The men laughed. Several had shiny badges on their vests, like a Sheriff. Others were just workmen, Elena recognized a few from the human camp Mama said she could never go to. A fat balding man bowed mockingly towards Mama, sweeping his bowler hat off his head.

“Mrs. Vasquez. How delightful you could join us.”

The men chuckled. A low groan, and the fat man kicked something at his feet, the sounds thudding dully.

“Stop!” Mama barked, hand outstretched. “Please, you’ll kill him!”

“That’s the idea,” a younger man sneered. He didn’t have a badge, but he looked the same, dark coat and vest, not dressed like a worker. “You and yours, abominations pretending to be people.”

He kicked the same thing as the fat man had. Another pained gargle.

Kick.

Groan.

Punch.

Groan.

“What do you want from us?” Mama asked, and she was crying, Elena realized. It made Elena feel even smaller, cold and frightened, and she curled up in the bush, not understanding. “If you want money-“

The fat man had lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the air as the young one kept _kicking._

“Oh we’ll get paid. All we need is a head, but I’m partial to skins myself. You dogs make good rugs.”

Another chorus of laughter.

The younger one stopped, breathing hard. “Where are those pups o’ yours?”

“F...fuck _you!”_

Elena gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth as she realized. One of the men moved, and she could finally see what they were all gathered around.

_Papa._

He was on the ground, half-transformed- his head and upper body were human, but his lower half was wolf, his spine kinked at an odd angle. Shiny metal arrows pierced through his haunches and back legs, attached to rope which two other men held to keep him in place, blood dripping down to the soil. His human hands scrabbled in the dirt, but his wolf half wasn’t moving, legs and tail still.

Papa was broken.

The young one kicked him again, boot sinking into Papa’s ribs and Elena could hear them crack, could hear the rattling of his breath as he tried to breathe. Papa was gurgling now, blood dribbling out the corners of his mouth as he barked and snapped at the boots.

And she knew. Elena was only seven but she _knew._ Papa was dying. Just like Auntie Louisa had. And Cousin Thomas. And Uncle Roger.

“Please,” Mama whispered. “Have mercy.”

“Mercy?” The fat one laughed. “But this _is_ a mercy, my dear. You don’t belong in this new world. There’s no place for you in God-fearing society. Better to end it now, here. Tell us where the pups are.”

There was a Preacher, Elena realized, a shaking old man that the other men kept between them, and he held a Bible out in front of him, muttering in broken halting words.

“We’re not evil,” Mama said. “We’re God’s creatures as much as you are. We’re just trying to live.”

The fat man rolled his eyes. “Spoken like a true creature of Satan. Milton, fetch my knife.”

The younger man grinned, darting away towards the shadows.

Mama looked desperate, she paced along the trees, not coming close, but not leaving either. Her soothing lavender scent was burning and bitter, clogging Elena’s nose with fear and grief. There were men at the edges, Elena realized. They had rifles, and they pointed them at Mama, a threat to keep her at bay. Mama had never hurt a human before, she wouldn’t start now.

“Please. At least have the decency to kill him first,” she begged, and something heavy settled in Elena’s belly. She shouldn’t be here. She didn’t want to be here.

Papa tried to heave himself up onto his arms, but his legs wouldn’t budge. The men pulled on the ropes, and he collapsed back with a gurgle of pain.

“Helen…go,” he panted. Elena could hear the wheeze in his lungs, the liquid that gathered there. “Just…go.”

Her parents had always fought a lot. But Papa loved them, she knew he did. He’d put Elena on his shoulders and run until it felt like she was flying. He told her stories before she slept at night, would kiss Mama on the cheek and ruffle Paul’s hair and…and…

She was crying, tears that burned as they slid down her cheeks, and Elena couldn’t look away.

The young one came back, and Elena froze up as she saw the glint in the torch light, the wicked curved thing. The fat man took it, admiring it, running his thumb along the edge of the blade.

“I’d start running now, bitch,” he said to Mama. “Take comfort in the knowledge that your husband’s death bought you and your pups at least a head start.”

“I’m here, David,” Mama said desperately. “I’m here.”

Elena didn’t understand why Mama didn’t fight. She just stood there, she didn’t try to fight them, didn’t threaten or change, or bite. Looking back with later adult eyes, it made a hideous sort of sense, Mama had never hurt a human. She’d never hunted. She was raised a Lady, and that was what she was- more human than wolf. Whatever wolf she had once been had been schooled and trained to be quiet, to be soft, and polite. She rarely changed like the rest of the Pack.

And the humans seemed to know. Mama stayed because she didn’t want Papa to die alone. The men didn’t shoot her because they wanted her to watch. Suffering came in all sorts of sizes, and both her parents would suffer that night, all because of the cruelty of men and being born different.

The fat man snorted, and offered the knife back to the younger one. “Here, Milton. Your first hunt, your first kill. I’ll let you have the honor.”

The man seemed to puff up, took the knife proudly. The fat man clapped him on the back, looking down at Papa.

“It just ‘aint your night, Mr. Vasquez. Milton here is in trainin’, and he ‘aint real good with a knife yet.”

The young one grinned savagely. “Gotta start somewhere.”

Elena hunkered down in her bush, covering her face in her hands as the knife winked at her in the man’s hand.

It didn’t dampen her mother’s screams, her father’s agonizing yells, but at least she didn’t _see._

Elena cowered and listened as her father died slowly, his voice trailing off into something more animalistic towards the end. Mama stood like a ghost amongst the trees, her voice broken as she tried to sing to her mate one last time.

_I’m here. You’re not alone._

At last it was quiet. A cheer went up among the men, and Elena breathed out, peeking between her fingers. The fat man held a bloody and torn wolf pelt a loft, his face twisted in the torchlight. The young one beside him looked stunned, breathing hard and blood up his arms and splashed across his shirt and coat.

“Drinks are on me, boys!” the fat one laughed. And they all laughed with him, all of them.

Laughter, as the mess that had been her father lay in the dirt, pink and unmoving.

Suddenly an iron hand grabbed onto Elena’s arm, and she cried out, twigs and leaves whipping against her as she was ripped out of the bush. A stranger held her aloft like a prize, alcohol on his breath as he leered at her.

“Well lookit here!” he laughed, avoiding her kicking legs. “One o’ the pups came back too! _I see you, girl._ ”

An old greeting now turned, twisted. Mocked. The fat man snorted, looking at her dismissively, stretching out a hand. "Give the runt here, not much of a pelt on her but it'll fetch a few bucks-"

Mama had never hurt a human.

She’d not gone after the Hunters as they killed her pack. Not fought as they killed off adult and child alike. Not even changed as they skinned her husband and killed her mate, the one man she had claimed for all eternity.

But seeing her daughter dangling in their hands snapped something inside her.

Mama was gone. Now, there was only the wolf.

Her change was not graceful, like Papa’s had always been. Mama’s change was the snapping of bones and screaming rage and pain. The Preacher warbled a prayer, but the rifles couldn’t stop her, not now.

There was no God, no Devil. Just the Wolf and Death.

Elena fell to the ground, the air around her erupting with gunfire, shouts and screams and the rending of flesh and gristle. She didn’t know where to go, where to hide, boots trampling all around her.

 _Change,_ a voice urged her, and fur slid against her arms, a wolf curling around her and protecting her from the fighting. _Quickly, Elena, love._

She thought it was her father at first, confused in the chaos. But Papa was dead, his body stretched out in the middle of the clearing as Mama raged.

Elena whimpered, sinking her fingers into thick fur. A familiar scent, like rain on the wind. “Uncle Anton. I…they…”

_I know, pup. Change._

She obeyed, human skin disappearing beneath fur, her dress bellowing around her like a tent. Uncle Anton bent, picking her up by the scruff like he had done when she was smaller. She was bigger, but not so big that he couldn’t carry her, and she curled her tail and back legs tightly up against herself. Uncle Anton was breathing hard, she could feel him trembling with exhaustion, but he slipped back into the forest, leaving behind the shouts, the gunfire.

And Mama.

Elena wiggled a little in his jaws.

_We have to go back for Mama._

Her Uncle picked through the mud and forest, not slowing.

_Uncle, we have to go **back.**_

But he didn’t. Uncle Anton carried her through the forest, down to the river and where the others waited in a small fishing boat someone had once left. Elijah and Diego leaning heavily on one another, Paul’s arms outstretched to grab her as Uncle handed her over. Elena didn’t change back.

_We have to go back._

But they didn’t.

 _She's gone_ , Uncle would tell her later, not unkind, but his own eyes bright with unshed grief. _She's with her mate now._

And Elena hated her a little. For leaving them. For _him._

She'd never be bound by a claim, she decided.

* * *

* * *

Elena breathed out slowly, blinking.

“So, that’s the whole sorry tale. Instead of saving herself, my mother went and died with him. After it all happened, Uncle Anton took the boys to the desert and shipped me off to Celine. He thought maybe…I don’t know. My life would be better. But I wasn’t cut out for that life, and Celine was disappointed I wasn’t my mother _._ Eventually when I was old enough, I ran off and joined back up with Uncle Anton and the others. We’ve been…living like that ever since. Picked up some people. Lost others.”

Arthur swallowed, mind racing. “And…the men who did it-“

Elena stretched, sitting up with a wince. “Mother killed most of them. She’d gone feral, there was no coming back from that. Eventually Uncle Anton went back to the place, buried what was left of them both that he could find.”

Arthur’s mouth was dry. “But…you said, Milton…”

“Yeah.” Elena’s shoulders slumped. “A while back, Elijah and Paul got word that Milton was a Pinkerton now. Or at least pretending to be one while he hunted on the side. They got it in their heads they could take him on, get revenge.”

She gazed out over the water, towards the dark swamps beyond. “Paul was killed. Elijah barely survived. Revenge is a dark and bitter thing and it took my brother. I…try not to let it take me, but I can feel it inside, even now. I want him to hurt as badly as he hurt my father. As he hurt my mother. And Paul. Knowing he’s in Saint Denis, just…just _there…”_

She gestured towards the trees. “It’s maddening. But Celine’s right. I should try to let go of the past. Look towards the future. With you.”

It was meant to be a catharsis. Her story laid bare; the air cleared between them. She bent down to kiss him, and he could tell she was relieved to have told him, her scent lighter.

But Arthur was shaking.

Milton.

 _Agent_ Milton.

She pulled away from him, frowning at his silence.

"Arthur? Are you alright?"

What could he even say? The Pinkerton they'd been running from, the one Cornwall had hired to track them down, was the very same Hunter who had decimated Elena's pack. Every second she was with him was putting her in danger of meeting the same fate as her parents and brother. 

Dread then, like lead in Arthur's belly. The future he had so eagerly imagined only that evening crumbled away to ash. It whistled away on the breeze, taunting him that he had dared think it. Dared to _hope._

She'd die, if she stayed with him. 

Arthur wouldn't let that happen.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, you guys are incredible. I wouldn't be writing still if not for your amazing comments, thank you so much <3  
> Warnings this chapter: some blood and sex. Aw yiss.

* * *

“Arthur?”

He wasn’t looking at her. Old paranoia made her stomach sour, her heart thudding as all she had worried came true. The insects chirping in the dark laughed at her.

_He’ll leave you now. They always do._

Elena growled irritably at her own insecurity. Arthur wouldn’t do that. She _knew_ that, in her heart. His scent was worried, verging on panicked. She tried reaching for him, but he stood abruptly, avoiding her touch.

“I uh…we should go,” he said, smoothing his hands down the thighs of his jeans, but he still wasn’t looking at her, gazing out towards the house, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Some invisible wall was going up faster than she could figure it out, leaving her in the cold.

It was like her own behavior mirrored back at her, and it stung.

“No,” Elena proclaimed, crossing her arms. She sounded petulant, but she didn’t care. He had promised her they’d talk, he didn’t get to just turn around and change his mind. “What is it? You’ve shut down on me. Was it something I said?”

Pinkertons maybe. Probably reminded him too much of the ones that were after the gang. He’d mentioned them, when she’d first met him. They’d probably faced similar dangers, perhaps not the same cruelties, but close enough.

He was quiet, stony. She studied his profile in the dim light, the crooked nose that had been broken too many times. _Please don’t go._

She tried to reach for his arm again. “Arthur I-“

The world tilted in an eruption of sound. A wave of water sloshed over the small pier, dousing her in algae thick water, and wood creaked and splinted as something heavy crashed into it. Sharp pain in her arm, like a vice clamping down hard, and the smell of blood burst thickly in the night air.

 _Her_ blood.

Elena gurgled, barely able to suck in a breath before the pressure dragged her into the river, down into the murky depths. She thought she felt Arthur’s fingers slipping against her shoulder for a moment, but the pull was too strong, her body contorting as she was dragged bodily through the dark. Her lungs burned, her free arm flailing and slapping uselessly at whatever had her, water rushing in her ears. Her hair swirled around her face, covering her like a veil, and she couldn’t see anything, the water too murky. The water wormed it’s way between her lips, slimy and foul as she writhed in the cold dark, unseeing.

Her fingertips dug into hard scale, a wide snout and rows of teeth that only clamped harder as she tried to pry them out of her arm. A gator then. And a big bastard at that.

She thought about changing, but a wolf was an even poorer swimmer than a human.

 _I’m going to drown in this stupid swamp_ she thought angrily, lightheaded and dizzy. _Of all the ridiculous-_

The gator suddenly angled up, and Elena could feel the pressure of the water pressing down on her as it shot towards the surface. Then, blissful _air_ , water running down her gasping face and stinging her eyes. 

She hacked and coughed, and the gator rumbled, vibrating around her, holding her like a dangling doll in it’s jaws.

Elena kicked weakly at it, but the gator was unaffected, dragging her bodily towards shallower waters, powerful tail slicing through the still water. Her boots dragged in mud, and finally, she felt the gator let go, dropping her unceremoniously. She winced, cradling her bitten arm against her chest as she got to her knees, spitting to try and empty her mouth of the rotten taste of the water.

“Wolf,” a voice barked. “Here.”

Elena blinked the water out of her eyes, pushing her wet hair out of her face. A man stood on the shore, hands on his hips and glaring like she was the unwelcome intruder. He was only clad in torn britches, his narrow chest bare and painted with patchy white paste. Black was smudged around his eyes and cheeks, giving him a skeletal look.

Ah.

Elena coughed again, side-eyeing the huge gator that floated beside her. It’s head and back were pitted with scars, the signs of a reptile long lived, and stubborn about it.

“There are better ways to get my attention,” she said, and she tried to be polite, but she was shaking, her voice weak and shocked. The teeth had torn muscle and sinew in her arm, and when she tried to flex it, the pain made her cry out. She gritted her teeth, trying to muster her nerve. “I’ve always been a friend to the Night Folk. You don’t have to _gator-_ nap me.”

The man waved his hand impatiently. “No talk. You have. You give.”

Elena dragged herself a little further onto the land, knees squelching in the mud. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

The gator had dragged her further than she realized- the house was no-where to be seen, and the small island they were on was on the edge of the larger river that surrounded Saint Denis, she could see the lights in the distance.

The man growled. “You _give.”_

She could play dumb, but she knew better than to test the Night Folk. They were wargs, humans who could join their consciousness with an animal, though over time they were more likely to lose themselves to it than remain human.

Elena shuddered. “You want the Wendigo head.”

The gator rumbled again beside her, the water vibrating with the sound. The man nodded.

“Yes. You give.”

Exasperated Elena gestured to herself. “I don’t have it _on_ me! I was in the middle of something. You could have just come and asked!”

“I ask. You give.”

Elena groaned. She didn’t have the patience for this. “What do you offer in return?”

The gator was eyeing her, drifting closer. She was sorely tempted to kick it. But more gators were moving in the water beyond the island, reminding her that likely, there were more Night Folk and their companions watching them.

Her water-logged clothes were sticking to her, clammy and uncomfortable. She wanted nothing more than to get back to the house and Arthur’s arms.

_Arthur!_

Elena tried to see back the way they had come, to gage how far they might be. If she concentrated, she could pick up distant voices, could be Arthur had gotten the others to search for her.

The man clucked his tongue. “We no kill.”

Movement in the tall grass, and a woman seemed to unfurl from the air itself, her long black hair wild and adorned with small bones. She too was dabbed with white paint, patterns swirled down her shoulders and arms, animal skins stitched together in an outfit that showed enough skin to make a whore blush. The man bowed before the woman, retreating to the water’s edge, and the woman fixed Elena in her steely gaze.

“We have met before, wolf.” She said, much more fluent. Elena winced.

“Have we? Apologies. The journey through the water must have addled my memory.”

The woman didn’t smile. “We need the Wendigo head you have in your possession. We are willing to barter your survival for it.”

“My survival?” Elena asked. “I told you, I don’t have the head on me. Killing me here isn’t going to get you it.”

The woman clasped her hands together, so much like Celine when she was running out patience. Elena bit her cheek to stop from laughing. She must have swallowed more swamp water than she thought.

“There are men in our territory. They bring guns and destruction. We would cleanse these wilds of their stink.”

“And you need the head for that?” Elena got to her feet slowly, trying to ignore how she wobbled. He boots slid in the slick mud, but she managed to keep her balance. Her arm throbbed.

“Dark magic. The swamp keeps its own, and it’s own will defend it.”

Cryptic. But the Night Folk always did like to speak in their riddles.

Elena nodded. “And if I don’t give it to you?”

“If you give us the head, then the magic will not be used on you.” The woman shrugged. “If you do not, then we kill you now, and your loud mate.”

Loud mate. She could hear him now, Arthur’s throaty bellows from the swamp and other raised voices.

Lord but she wanted to just lie down and _rest._

Elena sighed. “Fine. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. Let me go. I’ll bring the head to the river and you can do whatever it is your little dark magic hearts’ desire. Just leave us out of it.”

“You will be spared,” the woman said solemnly. “But heed a warning wolf, the humans you are with are not. If you wish to save them, you must convince them to leave. The bargain is struck.”

The gator moved towards her. Elena warned it away with a snarl.

“No thank you, I’ll make my own way back.”

The Night Folk watched her with their unblinking eyes as she splashed away, through the knee high water to the next island. The mud was hard to slog through, but she stubbornly kept on, until Elena left the Night Folk behind, the swamp swallowing her in shadow. She plodded towards Arthur’s voice, the lanterns she could see bobbing in the distance. She could hear splashes behind her, no doubt other gators trailing her, she’d be watched to ensure she kept her end of the bargain. She clutched her injured arm against herself and pushed on.

“ _Elena!”_ Arthur shouted. “Goddammit answer me!”

Elena stopped, sinking deeper into the mud. Around her the shadows stretched and distorted.

“I’m here!” she tried to shout, but her voice came out like a croak. “Arthur! I’m here!”

A light swung around the bend- a boat in the water. Elena squinted into it, raised her good arm in greeting.

“Here!” she managed, stronger. There was a loud splash, a body hitting water, and a shape blotted out the light, pushing towards her through the water.

“Elena!”

Elena sagged with relief as she watched Arthur struggle through the water towards her. His eyes were blown wide with panic, his breath coming in short bursts. His scent was maddening, so bitter with worry it burned her nose and made her stomach churn.

“I’m ok,” she said meekly, though her blood was sitting headily in the air. “I’m alright.”

His hands cupped her face, touched her shoulders, her arms, anywhere he could reach. She fell into him wearily, drained and eyes heavy.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he breathed, and he hoisted her up into his arms like it was nothing, like she was a swooning lady in need of a gentleman. This time, Elena didn’t mind, felt too tired to try and protest her independence. Arthur cut back through the water towards the boat, where concerned hands reached to pull them both back onboard. Elena huffed a breath, recognizing Charles and John.

“Thanks for coming to get me boys,” Elena stuttered, her teeth beginning to clack together. Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, trying to rub heat back into her. It hurt her arm, but Elena didn’t care, just relished being safe again. The thought of being back in the dark, under the surface, it made her shudder.

Arthur pulled her close, held her as they struck out towards the house. She wanted to tell him about the Night Folk, the head, but she was so _tired,_ her eyes drooping without her consent. She’d tell him tomorrow, in the light of day, and get the blasted head from the room. For now she’d just…just rest her eyes. Just…a moment…

* * *

“Dutch wants to see you.”

Arthur frowned, startled out of his thoughts. He looked up from his vigil at the bedside, Elena’s body practically buried under blankets. She’d passed out in the boat, hadn’t stirred as he’d carried her into the house, the others milling around worriedly. Hosea had checked her arm, cleaned it up some and Abigail had bandaged it, all of them agreeing she had been lucky to escape. By the marks on her arm, it had been a big gator, and all the gang had been banned from approaching the river alone.

He'd nearly lost her. Just like that, quicker than he could’ve blinked, and she could have been gone. No Pinkertons, just a big ass gator looking for a quick meal.

His head was a mess. Didn’t know what to do.

Hosea hovered in the doorway. “Hell, Arthur. You look like shit.”

Arthur winced, standing. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Dawn’s grey light was filtering through the window, smudging everything into soft shades and most of the camp was still asleep. Hosea sighed, shaking his head.

“Can’t believe it. Glad she’s alright though.”

“Yeah.”

Hosea led the way back towards Dutch’s room. Arthur weren’t surprised to see no Molly in sight, the woman had been sleeping with the other women more often as of late. Dutch was on the balcony, staring out over the camp towards the forest beyond. Hosea settled down onto a chair, lighting a cigarette and Arthur hovered in the open doorway, feeling like a stranger.

“How’s your woman?” Dutch asked, not turning around.

“Alive. Sleepin’.”

“Well some luck at least.” Dutch leaned on the railing. “She’s…an interesting sort.”

Arthur was immediately on edge. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Easy son,” Hosea murmured, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air. “We mean no disrespect. But we don’t know much about her. We’re curious.”

Both men smelled…strange. Not upset, but something not quite right, and Arthur were uneasy. Dutch turned around, crossing his arms.

“That contact of hers. That got Jack back. They got some sorta… _relationship_ , with Bronte?”

Arthur shifted. “Business, I guess. I dunno. It were a favor, and in return Elena can’t go back to Saint Denis. She came through for us, Dutch.”

Dutch showed his palms in a placating gesture. “Oh, ‘aint no-one doubtin’ her, son. It’s Bronte I’m interested in.”

“Bronte?”

“Dutch wants to settle the bad blood,” Hosea muttered, and Arthur didn’t need his nose to tell him the man wasn’t pleased with the idea. “And _I_ say we leave well enough alone. With the Pinkertons so close I’d feel better if we moved on.”

“Gentlemen, you have so little faith!” Dutch cried. “All we need is _one more take._ Money enough for all of us to get a ship to warmer shores.”

Hosea snorted. “And where does this 'one more take' have to do with Bronte?”

“He’s a powerful man. He wouldn’t stand for us stealin’ money out from under his nose. And there's Jack to answer for.”

Arthur was starting to see where this was going. “Dutch, it’s too dangerous. Not only we got Pinkertons close, but they’re in the city! Be crazy to try and rob some place.”

Dutch fished a cigar out from his vest pocket, setting it in the corner of his mouth with flourish. “You’ve changed, Arthur.”

An uncomfortable silence then, Hosea glancing at Dutch as if in warning. Dutch ignored him, patting his pockets for a match. Arthur curled his lip.

“The hell that mean?”

“It means-“ Dutch found a light, striking the match and pausing as he got the cigar lit. He shook the match out, flicking it over the balcony towards the ground below. “You ‘aint the same Arthur. I saw what you did to them O’Driscolls. To Colm.”

Arthur’s heart was pounding, beating so hard against his ribs he was sure the two men could hear it. “I killed 'em. So what.”

Dutch smiled, cruel. “You didn’t kill them, son. You massacred them.”

“Dutch,” Hosea sighed. “This ‘aint-“

“And we need that,” Dutch barreled on. “We need that anger, and that ferocity, and we _need you,_ Arthur. I can’t have you doubtin’ me now. You owe this family-”

Artur laughed. It forced its way out of him before he could stop it, harsh and grating. Dutch’s eyes darkened through the wisps of cigar smoke.

“You need me? ‘Aint that fuckin’ rich,” Arthur snapped, and there was no stopping it now, the words scraping out of his throat. “You all left me to _rot._ You don’t know what I’ve been through. What they _did._ Death was a mercy I gave ‘em, and I still had to find my way home ‘cause ‘aint nobody bothered to come for me. And you wanna stand there and talk about owin’?”

Arthur took a step forward, and he could feel himself puffing up, his shoulders rigid, his bulk seeming to fill the space between them. “You wanna start tallyin’ up who owes what, Dutch?”

 _Fear._ It slapped him up the side of the face so hard Arthur paused, confused. Dutch hadn’t moved, not a muscle had twitched on his face, but he reeked with it, panicked and uneasy.

Afraid of Arthur.

“We shoulda done more,” Hosea agreed, ever the peacemaker. “We failed you, Arthur. You got every right to be angry ‘bout it.”

Arthur took a step back. “Oh I ‘aint angry ‘bout it. I’m _done._ I ‘aint your fuckin’ muscle, your mad dog to bark and bite on command. I gave everythin’ to this gang. To _you.”_

Arthur glared at Dutch, the man he had followed without question for so long. “And you left me to die. I don’t owe you _shit_.”

Hosea didn’t know what to say, just looked between them both, realizing this was a chasm he couldn’t mend.

Dutch was shaking, the cigar tumbling out of his mouth, forgotten. “I ‘aint keeping you here. If you wanna go, go. Abandon us, go ahead. You ‘aint got a goddamn ounce of loyalty in you, boy.”

“I have changed, Dutch,” Arthur said lowly, and the anger swirled hot and dark inside him, flaring to life. “I’ve fuckin’ changed enough to see what you really are. A goddamn coward and a fool, who’ll sacrifice anyone he has to. ‘Aint that what happened in Blackwater? You were the one who brought this whole sorry mess on us at all!”

Dutch was going red, his eyes murderous. Was a time Arthur had been afraid of it, had always been glad it had never been directed at him. Hosea was alarmed now, had risen out of his chair, worried.

“Get. Out.” Dutch hissed. “Get out ‘fore I do somethin’. Take your whore and _get out._ ”

Arthur didn’t move. “Call her that again, and I’ll show you what I did to Colm.”

Hosea got to his feet, and he smelled afraid now as well. “Gentlemen. It’s…been a hard few days. Tempers are runnin’ hot. We should just…talk later. Cool off.”

Arthur half expected Dutch to just pull a gun on him. He wanted him to. Let him try, see what happened. Hosea hands were shaking as he pushed on Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on. Elena needs checkin’ on.”

Her name was enough to get him moving, and Arthur nodded, eyes still on Dutch. “Alright. Fine.”

He let Hosea push him back into the room, but didn’t relax until Dutch was well out of sight. Hosea breathed out shakily.

“The hell was that? What’s gotten into you!?” Hosea demanded. “You practically challenged him, Arthur!”

“Good,” he grunted. The anger was draining out of him, leaving him sheepish, but he didn’t regret nothing. “I meant it.”

“Arthur,” Hosea snagged his arm, brought him to a halt outside his door. “I don’t…I am sorry. And there’s some truth to what you’re saying. Dutch ‘aint himself. But something is gonna happen, I can feel it in my bones. You need to be careful.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Okay, Hosea.”

Hosea sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Sometimes I don’t recognize us anymore. Makes me sad. Miss what we were.”

Arthur didn’t. Not anymore.

* * *

The whole camp felt strange. Everyone seemed nervous, stepping around each other as if the slightest word or action would spark something terrible.

Elena watched them curiously, her arm bandaged up tightly. Dutch had ridden out around midday, saying nothing to no-one. He’d taken Micah, Bill, Javier and Lenny. Arthur had been in a terrible mood, had gone off to chop wood angrily, and Elena knew they’d quarreled about something.

She’d woken in the late morning, had her arm seen to by Abigail, with little Jack on her skirts. His eyes had been huge as he’d looked at the healing holes on her arm, asked a barrage of questions about gators. She’d laughed, and indulged him as much as she could, until his mother shooed him away to let her rest. Already Elena was healing, she’d be alright in a day or two. It barely hurt now, just a twinge of pain if she moved it too fast.

She’d taken the Wendigo head, still wrapped in the oilcloths, and taken it down to the river, dropping it beside the now destroyed pier. She hadn’t seen any Night Folk, but the head hadn’t bobbed back to the surface, and there had been shapes in the water, disappearing when she tried to focus on them.

Arthur had chopped a sizeable pile of wood, and showed no signs of stopping. His blue shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the back of his shirt wet with sweat and in any other situation Elena would have been interested, the sight of her mate working himself into a sweat a siren call to her hormones. But Elena let him be, recognized he needed to be with his thoughts, angry as they were. There’d be time plenty to talk, once he’d calmed down. So Elena settled herself at the table in the center of camp and enjoyed the sun on her face.

“Elena, isn’t it?” a voice asked. Elena cracked an eye open. One of the women hovered, her curly hair pulled back and young face smiling. _Mary-Beth,_ Elena remembered.

“That’s me.” Elena offered a smile in return, and the woman settled down at the table with her.

“I’m Mary-Beth. It’s nice to speak to you, properly I mean. We’re all very glad you’re alright.”

The girl was sincere. Elena chuckled, patting her bandaged arm. “It’ll take more than one rogue gator to put me down.”

Mary-Beth whistled. “I still can’t believe it. We’ve been washing in that there river! Could have taken any one of us.”

Karen appeared, plopping herself down opposite. “It’d swallow you in one gulp, Mary-Beth, skinny cow.”

“Karen!” Mary-Beth laughed. “What a terrible thing to say.”

It wasn’t long before most of the women had gathered around her, all eager to greet her properly. Even Abigail joined them, Jack only a short distance away playing with something in the dirt. Miss Grimshaw sniffed, muttered about laziness, but even she didn’t go too far, loitered around Pearson’s wagon as the women chatted and laughed together. Molly was no-where to be seen.

“I can’t believe it,” Tilly said, and Elena zoned back into the conversation. “Seein’ you come into camp like that, with _Arthur._ Never thought I’d see the day.”

The women all tittered. Elena glanced between them curiously.

“Is it so curious? He’s a good man, and handsome. I’m surprised I wasn’t fighting off all of you.”

The woman all craned to look towards Arthur who was still chopping wood, though slowing.

“Arthur? Handsome?” Karen frowned, and Tilly cocked her head as if considering it from different angles. “I ‘spose he is, in his own gruff way. Always seen him more like…a bear. Angry and dangerous if you poke ‘im.”

“And he were always mopin’ over that Mary,” Abigail interjected. “Stuck up bitch. Broke his heart clean in two.”

Agreement from the others. Mary-Beth leaned in closer to Elena. “So are you like us?”

“Like you?” Elena echoed, confused. “What do you-“

“Outlaws,” Tilly said, grinning as Karen cocked her finger back like a pistol, brandishing it. “On the run.”

Elena chuckled. “I guess so, yes. My pa-, my _gang_ has been moving ever since I can remember. Lost a lot of good people on the way.”

Sympathetic murmurs. Mary-Beth rested her chin in her palm, elbow on the table. “How did you and Arthur meet?”

All the women pressed in close, interested. Elena shrugged.

“I was hunting. Followed the beast up into the mountains, and I came across Arthur who had seen it. We hunted it down together. We just…got on, I suppose.”

Mary-Beth looked disappointed. Karen elbowed her with a wicked laugh.

“Fucking in the woods ‘aint romantic enough for you, Mary-Beth?”

Mary-Beth blushed bright red. “Karen!”

Karen ignored her, arching an eyebrow at Elena. “So, spill. Is Arthur as much a beast in bed as he fights?”

All leaned in towards her. Elena shifted on the seat, nervously tapping her fingers against the bandage, unused to so many eyes on her.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” she managed. “That’s between me and him.”

Karen whooped, pounding a fist on the table. “I fuckin’ knew it! Pay up Tilly.”

Tilly groaned, rolling her eyes. “Goddammit.”

Elena watched the two, baffled. Abigail chuckled, reaching over to pat her hand nicely.

“They had a bet. Karen said you weren’t a whore and you two were in love for real.”

“How was I to know?” Tilly complained, and coin was exchanged. “Thought she were too pretty to be anything but. Sorry.”

Mary-Beth looked pleased. “Good. Arthur he…he deserves someone good. You seem good, Elena.”

The women murmured their agreement. Karen winked at her. “Good at gettin’ into trouble at least. Which is what the Van Der Linde gang is best at.”

The mood shifted then, the women glancing at each other with worried eyes. Elena hadn’t been the only one to notice the mood in camp, the shift between Arthur and Dutch.

“You might as well know,” Abigail said quietly, shoulders hunched. “Molly’s left.”

Explained why she was absent. “Left?”

Abigail nodded. “Can’t say I blame her, Dutch ‘aint been the lovin’ sort lately. But I think there’s more happenin’ than just that.”

Mary-Beth glanced towards Grimshaw, but her attention had been grabbed by Uncle, and she’d hurried away to shout at him.

“Some of us are leavin’,” she said, her voice dropped low. “While Dutch is gone. ‘Aint no way to live, and we gotta move now, if we’re gonna at all. Pinkertons all over the place, Dutch actin’ strange. You and Arthur can come with us.”

Karen sighed. “I still don’t think you should, Mary-Beth. Dutch’ll get us outta it, he always does.”

“I’m goin’ too,” Tilly said. “You should come with us, Karen, Abigail. We’ll start over, somewhere new. Without Dutch, at least we won’t have Pinkertons on us.”

Abigail shook her head sadly, looking over towards Jack. “I can’t. I gotta stay with John, and he won’t leave, you know that.”

Arthur had finally worn himself out, dropping the axe beside the sizable pile of firewood. Grimshaw was coming back, and the moment had passed.

“Well offer stands.” Mary-Beth stood, smiling down at Elena. “I’m real glad you’re here, Elena. Even if you and Arthur stay. He needs someone like you.”

The women slowly filtered away, until it was just Elena. She met Arthur’s eyes across the camp, and he motioned towards her to follow, stepping out beyond the camp into the fields.

Elena got to her feet and followed.

* * *

The land around the crumbling Plantation house hadn’t been farmed for years, the vegetation growing wild and tall. It wasn’t long until Arthur and Elena were lost in the tall golden grass, and Arthur led her over to the tree line, where they could settle down in the shade. Clouds were gathering, but the day was still warm and sunny, crickets chirping in the grass and bees lazily buzzing by.

“How’s your arm?” Arthur asked, sitting down cross-legged, back against a tree. Elena settled down beside him, nudging his knee with hers.

“Healing. It’ll be gone tomorrow." She flexed her fingers. "I’ve been meaning to speak to you about it. It wasn’t some rogue gator, Arthur. It was the Night Folk.”

“The Night Folk?” he repeated, brow furrowing. “How?”

“They’re wargs. Not like us shapeshifters, but they can control animals. Essentially I was taken to negotiate.”

Arthur groaned. “The Wendigo head.”

“I gave it to them. Rotten thing.”

He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Good. I’m just…I’m sorry. We were talkin’ last night and then…then you were gone.”

Elena curled up to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You shut me out. Why?”

Arthur blew out a gust of air. “You said Milton. Milton’s the one who’s after us.”

And there it was. It made a strange sort of sense. Of course it did. Life wouldn’t have led her to Arthur to merely live peacefully and unchallenged. That wasn’t the way of things.

“And you panicked.”

“You can’t stay with me, Elena,” Arthur said desperately. “That bastard will be back, and he’ll do the same thing to you. You stay, you die.”

Elena lifted her head to look at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

He growled at her, just a hint of the wolf that had her blood rising. “It’s not. I’ll be the death of you. Like you said.”

“I say a lot of things. Look, Arthur-”

She shuffled herself around to face him directly. She squeezed his hand, waited until he looked at her. The grass tickled her sides, her yellow blouse nearly blending in. Her white one was ruined, clogged with swamp mud and stained red with blood. She’d had to borrow one off Sadie.

“I can’t see the future. Neither can you. There’s no telling what will happen to us. But I want to be with you. That’s my decision, and mine alone. You don’t get to decide what I want for me.”

Arthur sighed. “But-“

“It’s simple. I love you, Arthur.”

He stared at her, shocked. All the talk of claiming and mates, and she hadn’t used the word love. It seemed childish even, but she knew it. Had never been so sure of anything else.

“I…love you too,” he croaked. “Goddamn it, I really do. I love you.”

“Well then!” Elena laughed, leaning in close to kiss him, his mouth open with shock. “That’s all we need. I’m staying with you, Arthur. I’ve claimed you, and you’re mine.”

“Yours,” he sighed, and she could feel his resistance melt away. He gathered her in his arms, pressing her tightly against him. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she smiled against his lips, and his hand splayed against her back, warm through the fabric. “Love me, Arthur. That’s all I ask. Everything else…we’ll deal with it.”

She kissed him until her lungs ached for breath, his beard rubbing her chin and cheeks raw. The grass rustled around them as he lay her down, covering her with his body, and she had never felt so light, surrounded by his warmth and touch.

She tugged his damp shirt over his head, and he let her, bared his scars to her eyes and lips, let her trace the faded lines with her fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered against the hollow of his throat, rolling them so he was on his back, breathing hard up into the sky. He pulled her hair free from its bun, threading his fingers into the long dark strands, pulling her back towards his lips.

“That gator must’a hit your head,” he chuckled. “Only one o’ us is beautiful darlin’, and it certainly ‘aint me.”

“No,” Elena said. “You are. Beautiful. Every bit of you.”

She kissed down his chest, made him squirm and laugh, hands grasping at her, the grass beneath them. She watched for any stutter, any discomfort, but Arthur was loose and happy, limbs sprawled. They pawed at each other like a pair of pups, kissing and laughing, and touching comfortably in the afternoon heat, safely hidden in the grass. Her arm didn't hurt, the bandage unraveled and lost somewhere, baring the pink tinged scabs to the sunlight.

It was a slow build, a rising tension that she hadn’t even noticed until she was gasping with it, Arthur’s firm thigh nudged up tightly between her legs, and she was grinding down on it with wanton abandon, their kissing changed from soft exploration to something needy and desperate. He was above her, had her pinned to the ground, the mix of their sweat, dirt and arousal heavy in her nose.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, their noses nudging as they panted together. She couldn’t get enough of him, dropped kisses against his sun-weathered skin. His skin was salty with sweat. “Please, Arthur. I need you.”

His eyes were bright with want and the hand he shoved between them to unbutton his jeans brushed against her, set her off again, incoherent demands spilling from her lips. It was highly undignified, both of them rolling and wiggling to get various clothing off, Arthur biting out a savage curse when his jeans got stuck on his boots that sent her off into a fit of giggling.

But they shed them in the end, and as he settled back on top of her, she welcomed him eagerly into the v of her hips, skin warm against skin and he seemed to fit so nicely against her. She sighed happily, twining her arms around his shoulders, uncaring of her very unlady-like moans and grunts as his erection slid against her slickness, teasing. The scabbing on her healing arm was rough against his skin, and he came to, kissing her temple softly.

“You alright?” he asked her, lips against her ear. She grunted, trying to tilt her hips better against the torturous slide of him against her.

“I’ll be better once you’re inside me,” she hissed, his hips stuttering hard against her. “Arthur, _please,_ goddammit!”

He chuckled, chest pressed up against hers, the hair there tickling her breasts and making her squirm. “I got you. Easy. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. I know you won’t.”

And he didn’t. Her body opened to him easily, the steel slide of him into her an exquisite feeling she wanted to hold onto and covet forever. She gasped, her head thudding against the ground beneath them, baring her throat. Arthur was quick to fall on it, his tongue chasing her shuddering pulse just beneath the skin, teeth just shy of biting. His hips drove into her at a punishing pace, barely gave her a chance to suck in a humid breath and she didn’t care, just wanted him to never stop.

His hips slapped against hers loudly, slick and primal. Mating like this, under an open sky was how it was done in the old days, and she stared up at the fading light, pleasure bursting behind her eyes and smudging the sky. How many others had loved their mate under a sky like this, the stars of ancients bearing witness.

“Mine,” Arthur growled against her, driving himself deeper and deeper inside her. “ _Mine.”_

She gave herself up to it, to him, shoved her hips down just as savagely. She could feel him changing, his vocal chords twanging as the wolf demanded some control. Elena clenched around him, baring her throat further.

“ _Mine,”_ he snarled above her, his blue eyes pale and glowing in the dying light.

“Yours,” she panted back, and he fell on her, teeth sharpening and clamping down on the right side of her neck.

Elena cried out, couldn’t hold back the rush of pleasure as she peaked, his hips driven up hard against her, into her, until she couldn’t remember what it was like to not have him a part of her. His teeth in her neck, marking her, claiming her as his, and his alone.

Arthur pulled back the wolf melting back within, horrified as he realized what he had done, and he was pulling away, starting to pull out of her.

“Oh god, what I...Elena, I’m sor-“

Elena snarled, thrust her hips up and sheathing him back inside her, her own fangs sliding easily forward and she lunged, biting hard into the meat of Arthur’s neck in the spot that mirrored where he had bitten her. She locked her legs around his hips, kept him tight inside her, and he was convulsing with it, the same pleasure swelling inside him, eyes rolling.

“ _Mine,”_ she growled, sliding her teeth free and licking the torn skin. 

“Yours,” he replied automatically, voice hoarse, and she could feel him, the spasm of his muscles under her crossed calves, the throbbing inside her body as he climaxed.

She held him there, cradled him against her as he slumped, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat. Eventually her legs cramped and she let them splay wantonly against the grass, Arthur’s face pressed tightly against her neck where he’d bitten her.

They lay together, unmoving, just the rise and fall of their breathing, the sweat of their lovemaking slowly cooling. Eventually he softened enough that he slipped out of her, and she sighed at the emptiness that followed.

She kissed his ear. “Arthur? Are you alright?”

He grunted, pressed a kiss to her already healing skin. “Yeah. I’m…I’m here. Pretty sure I died for a second there though.”

She laughed. “You and me both.”

Carefully he rolled off her, blinking up at the sky on his back. “That was…incredible.”

Elena got onto her side, propped her head on her good arm. “That was a mating. A claiming. You’re stuck with me now.”

Her thighs were slick with his release, and Elena rubbed her legs together curiously. She’d not let a man release inside her before. She could get pregnant. The thought didn’t scare her as much as it had once.

Arthur breathed out shakily, touching the side of his neck. “I don’t…it’s never been like that. Before.”

Elena tampered down the sudden flare of jealousy. She knew Arthur had been with others. She had too. But it still flickered in her chest, jealous and snapping that someone might have dared touch him that way.

“Me neither,” she said honestly. She had enjoyed sex with her nameless lovers in the past, but he was right. This was more.

This was love.

She rolled against him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you.”

He grinned, honest and vulnerable, and her heart ached. “I love you too.”

It made her head spin, made her feel like a giddy young woman again, naive and blushing. “We’ll be doing that. A lot. Against every piece of furniture in that horrible house.”

Arthur laughed, curled an arm around her. “Sure thing. Let’s start with Dutch’s bed.”

They lay together, content as the afternoon passed into evening, the sky starting to darken. The clear day had given way to a mistier night, fog was rolling in off the swamp. Finally the cooler air was enough to make them both shiver, and they retrieved their clothes, messily buttoning them back into place in between laughs and tender kisses. Hand in hand they picked their way back through the vegetation. 

“I’m gonna check on Hosea,” Arthur said as they neared the house. “See what the hell Dutch is gettin’ himself into.”

“Alright,” Elena said, kissed him again just because she could. “I’m going to just enjoy the evening a little longer.”

Arthur nodded, strode off to find the older man. Elena turned her back on the camp, sighed into the night air happily as she watched the fog roll in over the fields. Everything would be right. She was mated, claimed, and it settled warm behind her breastbone. She’d wear her claim mark proudly, unashamed. Maybe one day she could return to Saint Denis and do it all proper, according to Celine. A wedding maybe, with her pack, her family, her-

“Well, well. Elena Vasquez.”

The voice was unfamiliar, and Elena jumped, taken off guard. A man stood beside her, staring out across the same fields. He was dressed in finery that wouldn’t look amiss in Saint Denis, complete with top hat. A silver pocket watch snapped shut in his hand, and he tucked it carefully into a pocket on the suit.

Dread quickly replaced the joy in her heart.

“Who…who are-“

“You know very well who I am,” the stranger said. “So let’s not dance around it. I’m cross with you, Elena.”

Elena hardly dared to look at him directly. She had frozen, stared out into the fog as her breath came in short panicked bursts.

The stranger sighed, settled his feet more firmly into the dirt. “I had a plan, you see. A story I had all planned out. All the pieces were there. And you just flounced in and ruined it all.”

The night was very quiet, she realized. No birds, no insects, just a thick silence settled around the house.

No, not quite. There were voices in the air, distant dark words and darker intent.

The stranger huffed. “Chaos. I can’t abide it you know.”

Elena swallowed, her heart racing. “I…my lord, I…I don’t-“

“Oh enough of all that.” The stranger clucked his tongue. “You brought this on yourself. You should have let him be, Elena. He would have been miserable, and died, but that was the plan. Now you all have to suffer. It’ll end badly, mark my words.”

Anger then, overriding the fear in her breast. “Our lives aren’t things to be toyed with, _Reaper._ ”

The blatant disrespect had surprised him. He turned towards her, his dark eyes pensive and assessing. She wasn’t brave enough to look at him directly, but she stared out into the fog, at the shapes she was beginning to see, lurching and rotten.

“I shouldn't be surprised. Your mother was just as disrespectful.” He sniffed. Elena didn’t rise to the bait.

“Our lives are ours,” she muttered, hearing splashes in the river, the squelching of mud as things pulled themselves free- rotting bones and yearning jaws that had been long forgotten in the dark. “Not yours to plan.”

“Clearly.”

“Why are you here?” Elena snapped, and she knew time was short, the house would be surrounded soon enough. She needed to get the humans inside, get the guns loaded.

The stranger gestured to the field, and she could see them now, shapes pushing through the fog, skinless fingers grasping towards the warm siren-call of life.

“I was summoned. Can’t you hear them? The Night Folk are ever so grateful for your gift, by the way. They send their regards.”

With a curse, Elena turned and _ran._

* * *


End file.
